10,000 cell phone
I’m also re-blogging my poem “Snow Day.”
I always wondered
How competing prayers were counted in God’s Computer
All children praying “Snow Day! Snow Day!”
Grown-ups praying that school stay open
You say the prayers of parents
Are already worn thin, transparent from overuse
Pleading, bargaining, the rot
Of panic at 3 am
While children’s prayers
Will always win
Are plump and wet
All around me, language was changing, people were inventing slang and speaking in a patois about disaster–earthquake, flood, a broken heart.
Snow covered the street and yard and I stood up in the emergency room I stood up in the I.C.U. I stood up in the zendo I stood up in labor and delivered you under a partial eclipse of the moon.
In English there is one word for snow and it says it all.
Compassion is here by the moment as is the empty space between the black branches of the Russian Olive.
Each snowflake wants something, that its crystalline shape dissolve and that the Rio carry it towards the sea, even if this is impossible.
Downstream a girl fills a jar and carries it home.