The blizzard comes
after you go,
Snarling out of the
haze
Its full teeth
exposed,
Its claws scraping at
my skin
As its paws pound my
back
As I follow the
downtown track
White flakes erasing
all signs
Of this 20th Century
In which I live,
Leaving me with the
brick faces
Of previous century
To mock my passage
Grinning with the
satisfaction
Of my grandfather’s
time
And those tall tales
he told
Of making his way
Through storms such
as these,
Bare fingers gripping
The handle of his
tool box,
His ghostly voice
Howling with laughter
At my pale attempt
To follow in his
fading footprints
His face shrouded by
the snow
My prints fading
equally
Behind me for someone
I have not sired to
follow,
Each of us mistakenly
believing
We leave an indelible
mark,
Just as his father
believed
And his father’s
father
Did before him,
Me hearing the spirited
Voice of the dying
horse
My grandfather’s father
Punched because it
dared
Bite my great-grandmother,
I even hear the fall
of the ax
That he made his children
swing
When coal ran out
And during a storm
like this
He sent them to the
river
To chop down trees,
My mission less noble,
No horse to avenge
To fuel to keep warm
A family,
But shadow of your face
Somewhere behind this
pale
Wall of flakes,
And the need to reach
you
In that uptown place
Where you wait,
The way my
grandmother waited
For my grandfather to
come,
The way all women
wait
For men like me
To make it through
Storms like these,
Struggling to follow
A trail that fades
With each slippery
step,
The vicious claws of
winter
More than the bears
My great great
grandfather
Claims to have faced,
The beasts I see
Peering from between
the fakes
Are those I imagine,
Self-created,
In this frozen waste
I call a life,
Each step a journey
Through the past
Through the future
Through a storm
I never meant to
stumble
Through
No more than my grandfather
did
Or all the fathers
before him,
Finding ourselves
In the midst of
madness
Until we find
Someone like you
In the end.
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