After her father died, 

she still had to go

back to school. The first 

day after the funeral 

there was a big snow. 

Early in the morning 

I drove slowly from

my house up the lane 

to the house where

she lived and now 

stood alone without 

her mother in a big 

drift at the lane’s end 

waiting for the bus. 

The white lane was icy 

and I drove dreamily 

as a black hearse, slow 

enough for each of us 

to catch the other’s

eye and to silently 

wave hello, hello,

and for me to note

the way she seemed 

remote and far away, 

snowflakes gracing

the shoulders of her 

blue wool overcoat like 

small circles of cut lace. 

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