A week before spring, smothering a full moon.
We wake to snow hurling at windows and roof
mixed with clattering hail.
Weather alerts, police alerts —
zero visibility, stay home, stay off the roads.
We make a fire in the fireplace, bake bread.
On tv the talking heads collide,
starting to collude in an old new paradigm,
we see the senseless
beginning to make sense. Words break up —
who jams the airwaves?
Oh, just the gale force winds.
Everything is closed — roads, schools, stores,
hearts, minds. Stay safe, stay warm.
The howling wraps around the house,
snaps limbs from trees, buries the drive.
It happens fast, what can we do?
Millions left uncovered, shelters blown,
agency dismantled. It’s almost dark.
We let the old dog out, wait for her return.
Maxine Susman lives in Kingston. She has published widely in journals and has written six poetry collections. She teaches poetry writing through the Osher Institute of Rutgers University, and is a member of the Cool Women Poets. She served for the first time this year as a reader of poetry for the Summer Fiction issue.
