The day it was on all our lips

The day it was on all our lips


I’d forgotten how much you loved snow

but your e-mail today brought me Moniack

in November; how you woke like a child

to whited-out windows and the snowman

the students had built in the night near your door;

the inquisitive deer; the locals relieved

by the brightness, not minding closed roads

and felled trees. Now it’s snowing for you

in the north, you’ll wake to surprise;

and maybe even a snowgirl decked out in lights.

Yes, I’ll be in Moniack in April,

will be glad if it snows, and from a woman

who worships the sun, this is testimony

to what you tell me to do, anytime.

“Text, ‘Leave the key under the bin’.”


That snowy drive, a trip to work

doubled in time. Your love &

hug across the miles. I think

about snowflakes falling into the sea,

frosting the pebbles on the beach; of your

wild lonely dreams; your passion

for texting. You say “the city’s a gift,

a new prize. Send poems”.


No, not that calm, that Christmas card peace

but cars crunching perilously;

not white either, oh, at first glance,

but then rain- grey portending slush.

Best sight: guys on a breakdown vehicle

pushing, sliding, shoving a dead car

up a ramp, stopping to lob

snowballs, whack, into each other’s faces,

whack, then driving two vehicles away,

stately ambassadors of the weather.

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