Holding on for Dear Life
OCTOBER, FIRST SNOW
—for my father
Late afternoon. When it arrives,
I am not ready for it.
This white reminding me of
The time I noticed your first gray hair
Dusting your temples
And thought of apple blossoms.
And near the end, when ashes fell
From your cigarette onto the white sheets
And I pretended not to notice
Then brushed them away.
Almost six months since your departure.
How you will not let go.
But this gray afternoon
Temporarily lifted by whiteness—
A momentary reprieve from grief—
Born again and again into
The harshness of this season.
The green grass turning white,
The dark windshields of parked cars brightening.