11.8.16
the weathermen predicted there would not be snow
the atmosphere
seen through the restricted lens
of educated men’s telescopes
was believed to be warming
when the snow began to fall just after sunset
a few clusters of icy flakes dropping from a clear November sky
they were dismissed as aberrations
by midnight the snow fell faster, gaining
speed that made us dizzy
sharp and twisted crystals dropped onto
my skin, suddenly vulnerable
still the weathermen assured us
the graphs point towards
a bright and clear tomorrow
the snow fell despite us
I spun a leaf in my hand
how could a world so lately bright with color
be cold enough for snow
they said maybe it’s time to cover up
I thought, enough of this could bury me
by dawn it was over
the tan, taupe, brown land, the green, gold, and red trees,
the infinite shades of life
covered by the muffling supremacy of
a blanket of white
hold on for spring hold on for spring hold on for spring
hold on for spring hold on for spring hold on for spring
hold on for spring hold on for spring hold on for spring
hold on for spring hold on for spring hold on for spring
Carrie Vasios Mullins is contributor and senior reader at Electric Lit. In addition to working for Electric Lit, she's a writer whose work has appeared in publications such as Tin House, Broad!, Moonsick Magazine, and Two Serious Ladies. She holds an M.F.A. from Columbia University.