2 February 2012
Dust of Snow
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
—Robert Frost
Well,
Robert, I haven’t yet walked
down Bristol Street
with Wystan
Hugh, and our crows
have all
holed up twenty miles south.
But I
woke this morning to thirty degrees
and a dust
of snow in the cottonwood trees.
I’d
rather have that dust than shadows
this ominous
forecast day. We don’t
have a Ground
Hog here as far as I know.
The
closest thing is a Yellow-bellied Marmot,
also
twenty miles away, ducking a crow
should he
emerge to test the wind and snow.
No wind
today.
This dust
should melt
by
afternoon and
clouds
should stay.
I’ll
settle for that and settle in
to a Lazy-boy
mood and stay inside.
No
Hemlock trees. Nothing to rue.
Robert,
you’ve been dead almost
fifty
years. I hope you don’t regret
the miles
you traipsed through woods and snow,
the miles
you had to go before you slept.
—Donnell
Hunter
2 February 2012
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