Heart attack snow


Heart-attack snow, they call it, so wet

and heavy that you might, unwitting, stop

your heart with the shovel-effort. Sometimes

life is like this snowfall. Should call yourself

lucky to get out alive at the end of each

endless day. But you don’t, because how

can you possibly feel lucky when it’s bearing

down, pressing on your chest with each hard-

drawn breath? Sometimes love is like this,

and you know you should feel lucky

to get out alive, but you don’t. But this

may be the last snowfall of the winter,

and if you are careful, you will survive it. And this


may be the last snowfall of your life; you have

been shoveling for months; the worst

of it is over. And this might even be the last

snowfall of your heart. As the cold wind

blows off the lake, if you are careful, if you listen,

you can hear the spring rushing underneath it,

eager to melt. Look — green buds still live

on the shrubs; daffodil tips lurk in muddy soil.


Your new life is waiting. Though snow lies

heavy on each branch, your battered heart

is pumping still. It may even be mending.