First Snow
The mathematician
watches grass tips scratch arcs
on the fresh snow.
The retired mailman
remembers the hiss of snow
on pin oak leaves.
The boy from Java,
hands aching from cold,
packs one more snowball.
The grandmother
ices her angel food cake,
whistling to herself.
Listening for snowplows,
the city manager hears
a muffled owl hoot.
Waxing her skis,
the sportswoman thinks
about golf.
The mall janitor
scatters handfuls of salt,
thinking of grass seed.
The snowman,
as Wallace Stevens has it,
thinks about nothing.
The chrysanthemums,
dried on their stems,
grow white again.
The snow continues,
fades into soundlessness
as it deepens.
