It snowed at home this weekend.
Not even Halloween yet, and it
snowed.
Not much, they tell me, but enough
to make students miss morning
classes. It didn’t melt over-
night.
Here, it
rains.
There’s been a steady stream of sprinkles
this past week. November without
scent of snow. March without
smell of melting. Just constant
drizzle.
This land of no hope, no
surprise, smothers
with its constancy.
Yellow winks on in the darkening
blue outside. Even when the
clouds clear away, I can’t see
the stars. Too hazy
they say. Stars here exist out
of train windows at
night, sparkling on the ground.