Another Winter to Shovel Snow
When young would shovel snow every season
before the plow would drive down our street
and all the shoveling neighbors would meet
to work in the cold for the same reason.
So many memories of giant banks
of snow with my Father dwarfed beneath them
as snow fell wearing winters diadem
as shovel works to thin these snowy ranks.
In Tahoe, Brother, caretaker of home
and shoveler of what this seasons brought
has found an entrance into our childhood.
In crystal memory the flakes will roam
before a shovel many winters fought
to break, our winter struggles where we stood.
My father prospected the cold for joy
of wearing knitted hat with pom on top
while building paths to walk across the crop
in morning when the sunrise begs employ.
While Mother cooked breakfast for his work
and energy for boys to move outside
to watch the children build with playful pride
an intricate snow fort from this framework.
My father finally admits he’s old
and leaves the shoveling to us, his sons,
while Mother guarantees he’s comfortable.
His reason slipping as the days unfold
in snow gear we will know we are the ones,
our legacy to free while still able.
We’ve seen these snow banks five feet or taller
before this season of the heavy snow
a time when snow banks marked when we would grow
and shovels used like summer lake trawler.
These stories fall upon the ground each year
to layers as the night passes to day
so many years these walls make it to May
to live a life in snow forts without fear.
I dedicate these words to my brother
whose found the joy in keeping promises
of heritage and love within our roots.
This snow as memory of my father
his gift to us these snowy provinces
to create with our shovels snowy shoots.
So I have started to maintain my land
a piece of land I’ve bought to call our own
a central point where children leave to roam
with shovel every winter take a stand.
When outside clearing off my sidewalk snow
I watch my son trying to move his sled
or make an angel out of his snow bed
and feel the bite of wind, the chilly blow.
Some lessons take a lifetime to sink in
in ways that make our stories hard to tell
an intricate snow fort from the framework.
Within the snow I feel how things have been,
each crystal chanting out this winter spell,
I shovel with a meditating smirk.