In the snowglobe


It was just after what should have been sunset.

Snow puffs like tiny white birds cupped in the leaves

of the evergreen magnolia glowed

a pale violet like the snow on the ground

and the blank motionless sky .There were only

the flat pines at the horizon, which were black,

and the glistening road, which was very black,

running parallel, and the flat black trunks of

winter-stripped pecans to break the purple plain.

He walked out close to the house so to disturb

as little as possible. As he stood in

the yard the sky turned dark and the snow came again

and he remembered improbably a long-

forgotten childhood dream -he dreamed that he was

all alone in his grandmother's huge bed that

in the dark he could not see the ends of, just

as he could never see the end of the world;

he lay there so small with his head upon a

feather pillow, and in reasonable dream

logic the pillow unsurprisingly burst

like a puffball mushroom, and all around him

the room was filled with feathers that he could see

even in the dark each clear enough to name.

So the dream returned, sure as a prophecy,

when in the night the snowflakes filled what little

world he could see and clung to his face like breath

he only wished the revelation longer,

long enough to name each dissimilar flake.


G. S. Morris