Shoveling Snow, by Tom Barlow

The charming snow that has my children shrieking /
the same snow that has coated my neighbor’s ramshackle in splendor /
is the same snow that landed on a fallen hadrosaur and melted in the
heat of its rot / the same snow that witnessed George Bailey’s salvation /

is the same snow that buried Hannibal in the Alps / the same snow
that waltzed for Tchaikovsky / is the same snow that killed thousands
by avalanche on bWhite Friday, 1916 / which is the same snow
I wipe from my glasses as I shovel it into heartbreak heaps /

tell me, what idiot would try to impose his order on that which brings
the heaven’s lovely chaos down to Earth / yet you will find me
out here again in the morning / shoveling, cursing /
then perhaps flat on my back / while the snow keeps falling, falling, and
given time / I will be dead, but beautiful.

Tom is an Ohio writer of poetry, short stories, and novels. His work has appeared in journals including They Said, PlainSongs, Ekphrastic Review, Voicemail Poetry, Hobart, Tenemos, Redivider, Aji, The New York Quarterly, The Modern Poetry Quarterly, and many more. See more at