More Snow Fall

More Snow Fall

through waist deep snow
I carry you on my shoulders
you sing about the old farmer
and yell, "Tree! Tree!"
at each hemlock we pass

I struggle with every step
wading, post-holing, breath
exploding from my mouth
white plumes that you reach
for with your black mittens
"Hot Hot!" you cheer.

my foot drops without warning
the culprit an old moose hoof
punched even deeper
we tumble forward
I lift you off my shoulder
as we fall, turning your face
towards the brilliant blue above

for a moment, dead still
staring up at the sky
snow fills the hole around our faces
I worry you are scared
or worse, hurt
but then you giggle, and ask
"More? More?"

I won't be there to always
catch you when you fall,
but I will always fall with you
and be there when you're ready
for more.




[Day 12 of my poem-a-day-marathon for National Poetry Month.]