poem08 Dec 2019 02:53 pm
Marge Simon
Once upon a time,
a child is given a snow globe
by an aunt or an uncle,
he can't remember which.
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Inside the globe,
a little man sits on a bench
looking at a little woman
with silver slippers,
her arms are outstretched
as if to embrace the sky.
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When he shakes it
the world inside
becomes alive.
He thinks it’s magic,
but he doesn't know for sure,
he is only a child.
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His conscience, a cornucopia of hopes. On this night, he shares it with the graceful woman in
silver slippers. He takes her hand, for he has much to say. She listens attentively, but she
already knows what it will be. She loves the way his hair fall across the small scar on his
cheek. The way he smiles before a sentence, as if to be sure she is following him. He has so
much to tell her, but the snowing always ends too soon. There's never enough time.
Tomorrow, she says, we’ll stretch our arms farther across the infinite, to be born again
within the past. Skirts whirling, she turns round and round. Her slippers dissolve in a slivery
blur. A snowfall of stars descends.
The child is sleepy.
He stops shaking the globe,
places it carefully on his dresser.
But before climbing in bed,
he looks again at the snow globe.
Just for an instant, it seems
the little man is waving
as if to say goodbye.
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