The snow was fine at first.
Small grains fell like salt
In angled lines behind the slats of window blinds in early light.
She wasn¹t sure that it was really snow.
But after morning coffee and washing up
The flakes were fat and wet, emboldened by the day.
Bundled, mufflered, her collar turned against the cold
She walked the two blocks to the subway.
By nightfall, her one green mitten,
Fumbled near the stairs when she scrambled for her ticket
Was as lost to snow as if it never happened.