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Photo by bharath g s on Unsplash

Poetry | January/February 2021

The Snow-eater

By Julie Phillips Brown

For every third step on the path
            to our front door, my son stoops
                        until his mouth is level with the fresh-fallen
 
snow, and there he parts his lips
            until the pink of his tongue meets
                        the white of the first few particulates
 
of ice. He holds his body taut
            with the thrill of its blank, juicy
                        chill, his mouth watering for
 
the next taste of near-nothing,
            and he reminds me that perhaps
                        this is what he has been after
 
all along: the sheer white
            of sensory possibility, the whole
                        world of it, not-yet-definite
 
as it meets the tenderness
            of the body, which from the first
                        moments in the womb was 
 
                                    made to yearn, to moon.

4 replies on “The Snow-eater”

Linda P. Brownsays:
February 1, 2021 at 9:22 am

How wonderful life is to experience one of its many glories, snow. This child told me that he very much prefers the cold; when it is hot, your hands get sticky. And the cost for all his joy was small, an unbeknownst moon.

Reply
Robin L Worgansays:
February 1, 2021 at 11:20 am

Fun to read as I watch the snow coming down today and remember my own children at that age. Love the line “he holds his body taut with the thrill of its blank, juicy chill..”

Reply
Robin L Worgansays:
February 1, 2021 at 11:22 am

Fun to read as I watch the snow coming down today and remember my own children at that age. Loved your adjectives and ending.

Reply
Kelly Joslynsays:
January 4, 2022 at 3:20 pm

I love that I experience this moment as both the mother and the child. Your empathy for his innocent delight makes me feel like both observer and snoweater! I especially love the line that Robin mentioned but also “the next taste of near-nothing.” Thank you for sharing this moment so beautifully.

Reply

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