I have in mind a snapshot of our son
Upheld by you in a prospect of snow,
Taken when he was less than half of one
On a cold mountain seven years ago.
It was the first snow he was ever shown,
Was blinded by and touched, and his cheeks glow.
His puffer suit is white. His hat is green.
Clearly the sky’s unmixed ultramarine.
And I recall he slept a long time after,
Upright in the car seat I’d pulled from the jeep
And stood up underneath the cabin’s rafters,
So we could eat a long lunch during his sleep
And he’d not hear the clatter of our laughter
While we’d in Vin Santo our biscuits steep.
He left no footprints in the snow that day
But made yours somewhat deeper I would say.
