Beneath the Snow

by Mary Fox

The sun rises,  

and you do not see it glint against snow. 

You do not inhale its sweet clarity you loved. 

I travel alone—reluctantly prepared  

before you sped to the sting of a setting sun— 

schooled in practicalities  

of water lines and furnaces.  

Somehow, I’ve always found a wisp of courage 

and imagination to see me through. 

This New Year might wind and twist. 

I might envision where it leads 

or question if I want even to trudge  

those paths. Uncertain, I will pause  

to fill my pockets with Christmas 

pebbles 

I’ll gather from beneath the snow. 

In my grieving heart, they’ll jangle a song of yesterday: 

I may recall sweet bundles of candles scented with pine 

or days bubbling with Christmas cheer. 

Remembrance may fill the air with 

peppermint, 

or rattle me those tart sachets fragranced with your scent—  

all prickly packages to prod me on. 

Mary Fox, a Detroit-born poet, resides Portland, Michigan. In 2016, she published “Waiting for Rain,” a poetry chapbook, with Finishing Line Press, and in 2018, she co-edited “Promptly Speaking,” the fourth Writing at the Ledges anthology. Her 2019 chapbook was “Reading Lessons” (Finishing Line Press). She promotes poetry and oral presentation with several Lansing-area organizations, including The Poetry Room, The Coffeehouse at All Saints Episcopal Church and Writing at the Ledges.

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