Snow and irony

 Last week it snowed and we still had class.

 

Snow Day

They didn’t cancel school today.

Thus, we were compelled

to brace ourselves and leave behind

the shelter of our incubators,

tucking chins and trudging

through air laced with tiny crystals fleeting

and determined to crown the world

with a layer of stardust.

 

Our boots left tracks

like snapshots of our souls, etched

into the crushed-diamond coating

on the sidewalk.

We pursued them under trees

dormant

barely stirring in the minty breeze

whose close, insulated cold

felt worth it then, annointed

by snow

Looking out windows

Today’s poem brought to you by: a free postcard I picked up in an echo-y art museum forever ago.

 

The Guardian

She might be proud,

or just a little sad,

standing there on profile, eyes always focused

on something behind the frame of her

orange-flecked world.

 

Proud because

it’s hers, this bright, burnt world,

this sun that’s almost too much

that spits out flecks of its golden self

just because it can,

this crown, composed of something not quite mineral

growing up and outward to counter the weight

under her cloak

and the slant of her eyes and mouth that seem

a little sad

because this world is her pride

and she might never leave it.