First Snowfall


Snowflakes are birthed in the womb of the heavens. Crafted individually, they reflect God's perfect order in their crystal symmetry.

I remember, as a child, walking home with my mother and father at night. Figures are huddled in the doorways sleeping. I don't know why people have to sleep in the streets and their explanation does not make sense.

The snowflakes fall from the heavens like angels cast out of divinity. Each silent scream combining into a deafening cacophony.

I am shopping with my mother at the local market. She won't let me have any 7-UP. I throw a tantrum in the middle of the store. Eventually I relent and we go home, mother in a dour mood. Why I couldn't have any 7-UP is beyond me.

During the eternal fall some snowflakes huddle together for comfort. They surrender their shimmering selves for a dull uniformity.

My mother hit me for taking money and putting it in parking meters. Other people did it all the time so why did I get punished.

Snow falls. A pure form shatters on the chaotic shore of earth. Purity is tainted by the dirty breakers. The virgin is consumed by shallow sophistication leaving only a puddle of despair.

My father dies when I am six. He lay in a hospital bed a caricature of the man I saw a few short weeks ago. Why do people have to go away and never come back? Who was going to take me for walks and buy me toys?

As time goes by the shattered mass together and form their own cold creation. But a blanket of white is only a pale reflection of gleaming spires that once reflected the brilliance of the sun.

In the first grade three boys are calling me bad names during recess. I run after them to make them stop and take it back. They run too fast. Why do they call me names? Why aren't they nice to me?

Glistening pinwheels plunge into waiting fields of white. The pinwheel is destined to be swamped in the chaos of life.

In the playground I noticed people were smiling and laughing in little groups. Why was I a group of one.

Slowly the plains of white part to a growing river of blood. In high school many of the boys had girlfriends. Only the geeks and fags did not. Which one was I?

The river of blood freezes in the cold embrace of corrupted purity. Joining ROTC was the fad. Being accepted made you a big man on campus. I didn't see the honor of killing people in the name of God and country. The newspapers said people were sent to prison for killing others. why was killing a good thing when done in the name of our country?

Inevitably the cold embrace will wither in the coming spring. Deborah was my first love. My love was not enough and cast away. I find the abyss cold and want to sleep.
The trickle from my wrist is a mute reminder of hope slipping away. In the end the snow's embrace is all that remains for the fallen and the rivers of red waiting to flow.