Snow

…as published by The Boston Herald

when it snows, I am husbandless.
he plows for the town.
I watch it pile by the moonlight
while he’s out smoothing it down.

he drives the winding side-streets
combing patterns in the white,
clearing pavement before sunrise
in the stillness of twilight.

diffused illumination,
light refracting off of snow.
as he rolls away from bed I hold his arm and say
don’t go.

at this, he kisses gently, whispers
love, go back to sleep.
as he does, I breathe in fully
for some wisp of him to keep.

and I roll across white pillows
to face the frosted panes,
watch him reverse down the driveway
’til no trace of him remains.

laying still with my eyes open
as dark blue turns into gray
until the bleached white morning
signifies the start of day.

and my husband drives the driveway
saunters snowy to the door,
kicks his boots off in the hallway
and is by my side once more.