I wrote a lot more about snow while I was in Vermont last week. This was the second residency of my MFA work. I took lots of notes in the lectures again this time, but instead of leaving them all on my shelf as soon as I came home, I leafed through the notes and jotted down all of the sentences with exclamation points at the end. I put them all on one sheet of paper, which I tore out of the back of my notebook. I also wrote down the sentences I had underlined. They all fit on one page. I hung it above my desk, where I am staring up now, for divine inspiration. Except it is coming from Vermont College of Fine Arts. I wrote things like “Make a poem!” and “compassion for our earlier selves!” Also, “unanswerable questions!” “image!” and my favorite, “When people believe in boundaries, they become a part of them!”
So poems. And becoming boundary-less. And another poem about snow…
By A. Anupama
When you snowed, you snowed hard.
The wind blew across my ears, whistling loud.
The drifts and dimmed lights confirmed how far
your passion could go, and I made no sound.
The blizzard passed, and the heavy snow lay
covering all in pure white, a sight of bright
love, complete, and joined to white play,
snowballs, drift slides, sledding, skis and delight.
I walked with you in the snow, sometimes
in drifts past my knees, cold pinching my cheeks,
and when I looked for words to say to your rhymes
my mouth hid behind my scarf. Lips seek
but they take time. The snow turns to slush
then melts to water, rippling you, and I say hush.