The loud murmuring of the city fell away in a vast silence . . . and the stars shone over broken walls.
—Clark Ashton Smith
We all knew the snow
could not last
but the flakes kept swirling down
and Jenny was so cold.
The winds of winter had already killed
the small garden, made mirrors
of the pond and birdbath,
and one small girl froze
outside, she read.
Stacey turned the page.
The snow is deeper now and we cannot
get out. Jack pleaded with her to stop,
he was that cold, but she said
just a little more.
The drifts covered the streetlamps, the oak
trees, the peaked and gabled roof,
but Stacey kept on reading. She moved
closer to the desk as the
A window pane cracked
and white powder melted on
the horsehair seat. In desperation,
Jack picked up the snow dome and gave it
a couple of really good shakes.
The street swirled white;
the house pinged; lights shattered,
and the snow flowed unchecked
across the window seat, down
the stair, and into every room.
By the time Marian and Kim
left the theater
Stacey had finished the book.