By Carla Hayes
(Author’s Note: This is a poem that I wrote after my cardiologist told me that I was never allowed to shovel snow again.)
I wish I could shovel snow again.
Slowly, carefully, I would bend
And shove the shovel under a big pile of snow
And push it and heave it as far as it could go.
I wish I could shovel snow again
And enjoy that moment of accomplishment when
Beneath my feet, I'd feel that vast empty space
And know that the snow had once been in that place.
I wish I could shovel snow again.
Peaceful hours I would spend.
Stillness and silence all around,
Punctuated by faraway sound.
I wish I could shovel snow again,
And go back to the time when I was nine or ten
And discover anew God's symmetry and truth
In each long, fragile icicle hanging from the roof.
I wish I could shovel snow again.
Now all I can do is dream and pretend.
I long for the breeze of the brisk winter air
Gently blowing through my long blonde hair.
I wish I could shovel snow again.
I'd make a snowman who would be my friend.
Even though I have no man, that snowman would be there.
I'd let him melt my heart and pretend that he cared.
I wish I could shovel snow again.
I'd work my way down to the driveway's end.
The snow and the ice would crunch under my feet
And after awhile, I would reach the street.
I wish I could shovel snow again.
And not worry about the effort I expend
And not think about my heart that might attack.
I'd just shovel a path and follow it back.