Poetry

By Iris W. Schow


December’s Living Art

The joy-lit faces
Of those we meet
Are animated
Christmas cards
Moving down the street.

Muscle or Morale

Forget the inconvenience;
ignore inclement weather—
this ritual’s never canceled;
we always WALK together.
We can’t exactly pinpoint
the benefit that’s in it:
our pace slows to a crawl, but
we TALK a mile a minute!

Snowfall

Snowflakes sift the air with a quietness
That makes falling seem suspension—
Barely there, hardly visible
Even when obscuring solid landscape,
Too fragile to be felt save by tonguetip
And then only by dozens;
Crystals ten times more delicate than dew,
Subtle silent almost as spirit or sin.
It’s hard to imagine how
One inch of snowfall over a single acre
Can weigh eleven tons.