So believe it or not, for #Blizzard2016, I was stressed but cozy in a Manhattan lawyers’ conference room, practicing a moot court argument. But in snapping a few pics on break (Instagram: TNW24!), I was so struck (literally and spiritually) by the historically epic levels of snow that I decided to semi-freewrite a little poem:
A blue view, double digits up.
The reflections of our inflections
float over the snow like ghosts, and
this icy twilight, when sirens fire down empty avenues,
flakes swirling so the fall and rise look alike
to tired eyes lifting a headache
past glass, under a flickering light
over a lavish table.
Delicate delicacies and canned heat, bottled water—
an anxious banquet by holed-up hosts,
mostly confident we’ll make it out of here safely at dark.
As our floor scrapes the sky, so sleet scrapes the streets
in sheets, defeating any chance of steady wi-fi
or an uneventful stroll to the ATM.
The air occluded, Arctic darkness
blows gridwise in cold lines,
a hazy maze that shakes structures and ruptures Saturday plans.
The windows across are white-swept cells, clotted with frost.
The lights are off, and nobody home—
A law firm’s a bunker when New York is Nome.
Hope everybody else in the area stayed safe and warm!