To See How the Snow Blanketed the Trees

Cory Brown

To see how the snow blanketed the trees

along Taughannock Creek Road, I turned off

Route 96 this morning. It was as if, as geese

maybe, angels had waved their wings to scoff

at the ordinary. All the white made me think

of my father in his coffin many years ago,

and of my dear brother, who I watched sink

into his grave just last week, at 70, but a blow

to me as if he’d been much younger, his arm

like cardboard when I patted it. His death

was as natural as a snowfall, nothing to alarm

anyone about, but something about breath

makes us think it’s as constant as the sun,

like a long steady creek going on and on.