July 27, 2011

Snow by Eve Lyons

Things are easier to see in the snow. 
The clean white palate
shows red berries, 
yellow urine, and the tracks of everyone 
who has been out that day. 

Most days in Boston 
hundreds of people trek
up and down streets 
on and off subway cars
without noticing the tiny berries
still hanging on 
despite winter's persistence.

Today, I notice. 

The cold nips my face
I concentrate hard on my feet
to keep from slipping. 

The snow makes everything
a little easier
to notice. 





Eve Lyons is a thirty-something year old Jewish woman poet, fiction writer, and playwright who is living in Boston, MA. She has been previously published in Fireweed, Labyrinth,  Concho River Review, Barbaric Yawp, Women’s Words, Woven, Sapphic Ink, Texas Observer, Houston Literary Review, Word Riot, Contemporary World Literature, Contemporary World Poetry Journal, protestpoems, voxpoetry, New Vilna Review, Yale Journal of Arts and Medicine, and two different anthologies.  Eve is also a Licensed Mental Health Counselor and an expressive arts therapist, working in an outpatient mental health clinic in Boston. She currently has poems pending in Lilith and Poetica.

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