Yes, it’s true the storm has passed
By Marge Piercy
The highway has been cleared,
almost polished like a kitchen
floor after cleaners have gone.
But along many winding little
streets, at the end of sand roads,
back in the pine and oak woods
where deer huddle together
on trampled snow and nibble
needles, people are stuck hard
in their houses. Maybe they’ve
shoveled as far as muscles permit.
But the plow hasn’t come there
and the electric company has put
them far down on the repair list
so it’s dark, it’s candle time.
It’s melting snow and wearing
so many layers they can’t lean
over. It’s praying the propane
doesn’t run out. It’s drag more
wet logs in and hope the fire
catches. No more milk, raccoons
have got into the meat placed
in a cooler outside in the biggest
drift to keep from spoiling.
It’s back to primitive grim days,
nights of ancestral fear ruled by
coywolves and great horned owls.
Copyright © 2015 by Marge Piercy.