When I was young
(It’s alright—
No one thinks they’ll enjoy a poem that begins this way)
I anticipated snow, feet deep Halloween to Easter.
Trudging those depths was a test of fortitude.
No parent to rescue you
To fetch you from school
Or in any way interfere with the challenge
Of growing up Utahn in the 70s.
It wasn’t thought wrong
Back then
To let children suffer the cold
Navigate dangers alone and return after dark
Light-headed and woozy
From the home fires licking their frost nipped fingers
Their wind-bruised cheeks.
Nowadays
I don’t expect more than a skiff in the valley
Or, out my window to see
A lone child deciding for itself whether or not
to race home.
Oh nostalgia—
Liar, sugared preserver!
Changing climate aside look again—
That swollen self-image
Tough and sovereign
Developed within the sureness of having a home
Warm
Open-doored
Always waiting to welcome you back.
