Writing Magazine

A WHITE WORLD OF FUN

SNOW GLOBE

From behind the safety of glass,
ragged snowflakes swirl, leaching colour
from grass, a conjuror’s cloak on the path.

The adult in me thinks black ice,
skids, broken bones, smashed cars;
and after the freeze, bills and burst pipes.

The parent in me still worries.
Is Molly warm enough in her flat?
Will she catch the train tomorrow?

But the child in me wants to rush out,
make tracks in this white world, fling snowballs at buses,
sledge down the highest hill;

make a slide on polished ice, flash by
with sodden hands and reddened nose,
build the biggest snowman in the world;

believe he’ll wave his broomstick arms,
shuffle on slippered feet, look

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