poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Thursday, January 27, 2011

Smell of Snow

Casting open the bright back windows, this is what she wants to smell:
orange blossoms, olives, cypress, bog myrtle, jasmine, garlic and mist.
Instead it's just the smell of snow. So much snow. Too much.
Who was the first in this family to figure
planting a stand of dense trees thickly
would protect the grape arbors from that specific wind?
Nothing so sweet as the smell of snow.
It is the smell of nothing. The smell of that sweet past:
a laughing, unbroken horse
and hedgehogs having a party in a cave. Then a nap.
Safe as houses. Melodeon music. Smell of hawthorne and history.
Jaunting, wagonettes, strawboaters, snow.
Mouth-organs, side-cars, thimble-riggers, snow.
Snow is what we've kept. Snow is what will continue.

1 comment:

diana jih said...

Timely and timeless.