Blame it on the meandering North Pole,
the Polar Vortex, the ghost of glaciers.
Nobody in our neighborhood welcomed
this season's snow inundation
with the exception of deer and turkeys
perched atop tall snowbanks
leisurely dining at bird feeders.
While attempting to rake four-foot drifts
off my roof with an unwieldy ten-foot pole,
I tumbled backwards, landed flat on my back,
watched more dark, ominous snow clouds rolling in.
The neighbor's dog, Joseph, trotted over,
plopped down next to me. We talked snow.
Come July, we might find a souvenir here,
a pinch of snow huddled under a shady grove
of spruce. Snow has been generous, it even graced
my cousins in California and Arizona.
I'll remember this winter, unless it's just a tease, a taste.
Is that the wind singing, You ain't seen nothing yet?
Linda Aschbrenner reads, writes, and dreams from a Marshfield marsh. She published 100 issues of the poetry journal Free Verse in addition to 17 chapbooks for fellow poets. Her writing has appeared in Rosebud, Verse Wisconsin, Peninsula Pulse, Yankee, Cats Magazine, and California Quarterly.