Once with my scarf knotted over my mouth
I lumbered into a storm of snow up the long hill
And did not known where I was going except to the top of it
In those days we went out like that
Even children went out like that.
Someone was crying hard at home again,
Raging blizzard of sobs
I dragged the sled by its rope,
Which we normally did not do
When snow was coming down so hard,
Pulling my brother whom I called by our secret name
As if we could be other people under the skin.
The snow bit into my face, prickling the rim
Of the head where the hair starts coming out.
And it was a big one.
It would come down and down for days.
People would dig their cars out like potatoes.
How are you doing back there? I shouted,
And he said Fine, I'm doing fine,
In the sunniest voice he could muster
And I think I should love him more today
For having used it.
At the top we turned and he slid down,
Steering himself with the rope gripped in his mittened hands.
I stumbled behind sinking deeply,
Shouting Ho! Look at him go!
As if we were having a good time.
Alone on the hill.
That was the deepest I even went into the snow.
Now I think of it when I state at paper
Or into silences between human beings.
The drifting accumulation.
A father goes months without speaking to his son.
How there can be a place
So cold any movement saves you.
Ho! You band your hands together,
Stomp your feet.
The father could die!
The son!
Before the weather changes.
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