snow maiden

my mother says I am cynical
but the frost on the trees
tells me otherwise
for I will become a snow maiden
in days
when the white blanket I call home
gently hits the ground.

my mother will be left
shoving doors closed
placing towels in their cracks
keeping out life while I lie barely clothed
swallowing life whole
each flake bringing me into being
and although I am

prone to neurotic moments and
there are times I might say die
(is that cynical?)
I am really just being
honest pure
having union with the earth
the same as with the snow

my mother
less organic
thinks I have no control
letting the world steer me
with its scenes, scenarios and setups
while I fall into disgrace at the tragedy of it all

Nature is not always happy I remind

and I remain in its pattern
trying desperately to find
solace
in flakes and leaves and drops
not to mention certain angles of sunlight
while my mother, good intentions indeed
lives a life of stable, indoor, plastic bliss

die I may tomorrow
when the world crashes into my unhappiness

but cynical, no not I
when I am just doing as
the earth tells me to.

March 27, 2007