Reid@YWP

this isn't the first snow - it isn't

the one we spent at the bus stop together, sharing 

hand warmers and wishes for the bus to come,

which, eventually, it did

melting the frosty road beneath it

7:53 My mother has creases under her eyes I’ve forgotten I contributed to, laugh lines around her lips I didn’t realize were from jokes I’d made.

In Amherst's shade, where whispers grow,  
You stitched the seams of all we know,  
A bee's soft hum, a slant of light,  
Became the fabric of your night.  

school was called off but i still woke up early

i woke up early to watch the snow coat the green grass with white

as the window fogged, i lost sight

i grabbed my gloves and boots

I’d like a palmful of metaphors,

Ones to use every time

I put a pen to a page,

To plant in my heart

And become submerged in my hope,