There was no doubt that March Monday would be
a snow day for me, but dad still had work,
so we spent a Sunday shoveling snow
packed three feet deep from a gravel driveway.
That cold, dark night, feeling pleasantly tired,
warmed by the woodstove, sipping hot cocoa,
scribbling furiously in my journal
by the soft gold light of my lone desk lamp,
I found a new rock radio station
and felt a fresh excitement in my chest.
That music, they called it grunge, shook my bones.
It gusted in my ears and sped my heart.
In middle school a weirdness covered me,
I was liked for it, but smothered by it.
But in the quiet, under all that snow,
red checked flannel, shredded jeans, there was me.
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