When the snow fell that winter,
it played God with us
for a few long months.
He laid out a haunting porcelein
white
striking showroom display
to protect us from the bad seeds
and unsightly waste
drawing in helpless masses
stunned in
distant admiration.
But he was too cold to play with.
He knew how to keep things
perfectly preserved,
frigid and sterile
and obedient as
white coats.

God thought he'd lay it down
heavy that year,
protecting unclean things
from their own
destructive selves.
He pushed our wheels down
into fat lackey mud
and said,
"Sit and spin, if you will. But you'd be
much, much more comfortable if you
would just sit still."

(I suppose that I wouldn't want
to grow up too free, after
all wildflowers never looked
good as weeds.)

So God's message soaked in,
sobering fertile grounds
into knowing it's best
if you never get too high.

Copyright1999CynthiaGlass