I could see the branches reflected in the surface of the table
It was snowing in the Appenzell, it was snowing in Denver
The air had that purple light in it at night
It was snowing on the windy Blue Ridge plateau
My mother wiped down all the surfaces until they shone and wiped them again
Like she was in a nightmare of her own
The December light is cold and watery
The bare trees hold their positions and you can’t convince them of anything
You can’t convince them they don’t have to
The air had that purple light in it at night
It had started snowing and the dream was a voice calling me sweetheart
And the madder I got the more it called me sweetheart
(In the south the white comes more from the fog but the glare effect is mostly the same)
I just wanted her to stop cleaning but she wouldn’t be persuaded, like the trees
holding their positions across the sky
Oh my mother is a tree
It was snowing in the mountains and already it was deep in the woods
In a nightgown, in a parka In the white December light
My mother, a bare tree in a place where it is going to snow