- Rauner to Smiddy: No debate for you
- State Roundup: Moody’s: Regardless of reform, Chicago pension will grow for years
- State Roundup: State could see up to $500 million in unexpected revenue for current FY
- Tax revenues up, Rauner to restore $26 million ‘Good Friday’ cuts
- First Friday Lineup: May 1
- State Roundup: Former governor Walker passes away
- Mayors decry local funding cut proposal, say expect cuts to services
- Senate rejects bill to ban smoking in cars with children present
- Mayors warn of critical cuts if funds are reduced
- Rebuilding Rockford
Literary Hook: Poem: When snow holds us captive
By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Looks like winter and snow are off to a good start this year. Here is a poem that investigates the ways we are held captive by the snow.
Listen to the Snow
The summer sedum slump, bedraggled by a bedlam of new snow,
snow so thick it bends the large lilacs and topples prairie grass.
At last, the city is perfectly quiet, its recent crime wave on hold,
snow a better antidote to violence than all the men with guns.
A blizzard brings out the best in neighbors. This minute, Anthony,
snow still falling gently on his blue parka, shovels the driveway
of our oldest resident, here on our quaint street where maples hold snow on their bare limbs. Everything is closed. We settle in,
reconfiguring our day to meet the snow’s agenda. Today,
snow is the Boss of Everything: school, traffic, appointments,
meetings, choirs, trysts, operations, helicopters, vacations obey
snow’s sweet command: Stop everything you are doing. Be still.
Adjust your entire day, so says the snow. Finish that book,
snow says. Be kind to your neighbors and pets. Fill the bird feeder.
Clear your desk. Call your mother. Write this poem. Learn to wait,
snow says. Listen to the glorious complete quiet of this day.
Tomorrow, when the city has done its best to rid the pestilence of
snow, when we’ve had enough of snowmen and hot chocolate,
tomorrow, when things get back to normal, whatever that may be,
snow’s sweet quiet will linger for a moment, then melt into
the day’s business as usual. But in your bones you know
snow transforms like a powerful meditation, a great reminder
that there’s something to be said for that slow silence
snow bestows on anyone who cares to listen to the snow.
Published in Severson Dells Newsletter, Fox Cry Review and Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar. Also published in The Alleluia Tree, from Puddin’head Press.
Christine Swanberg is a local author and poet. She received the Lawrence E. Gloyd Community Impact Award at the 2012 Rockford Area Arts Council State of the Arts Awards.
From the Dec. 25-31, 2013, issue