Heart-attack snow, they…

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.


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