Snow and Ice

In the days before you were named,
the streetlights outside were shut off.
There were power outages
and crime sprees.
The electric range was cold all night.

In the days before you were named,
there were floods, the water lapping
over the railing at the bridge.
The octopus flopping in the waves
threatening to come ashore.

In the days before you were named,
your grandmother stood waiting
in the doorway
between living and dying.
Your grandfather boarded up all the windows.

In the days before you were named,
there was pacing and the crunch of snow and ice
a wetness that crept into my boot,
making the walk home,
groceries in hand,
small dogs growling,
more treacherous than ever.

But also in the days before you were named,
there was a cobalt sky,
the scratch of pen over paper,
a woman’s laugh coming through the walls.
There was a hope for early spring,
and fresh flowers set at a gravesite.
There was a moment for all of us,
breath held, eyes closed.
There was music, light and lilting
a cadence worth remembering
in the days before you were named.