Art and Creative Writing

plow

last night, a warning came.

bright red flashed the screen,

screaming blizzard.

you know I like the snow, but

I didn’t on that day.

I was scared, scared that

something terrible would happen.

and it almost did.

in the sharp darkness of the night,

a soft snow fell,

swirling and spiraling as it piled

and piled

and piled

until the snow whetted and

pierced the sky.

and then it piled some more.

I sighed, uneasiness overtaking me

as I settled next to my resting wife.

my hand found itself drawing soothing circles

across the warmth of her growing stomach.

she was nearly full term,

nine months along for our second child.

in the morning we found ourselves

deeper in the thick snow.

it walled itself around us,

pressing against our glass cage.

at least a foot tall, it threatened

to confine us within our own home.

the local snowplower’s truck had broken down.

everyone else was booked or

stuck, meaning

we were on our own.

and we very much felt it.

the stuckness, I mean.

there’s a tension that steadily grows,

seeps into every crevice of your skin

until it overwhelms you.

I would not let the storm

overtake us, so I had to

brave the torrent of snow.

through the window, a blur of white

barraged the hazy sky.

not even our shielded porch could

protect us from the onslaught.

the wood that protected us creaked

and the heaters shuddered

as I carefully edged towards the

raging blizzard outside.

our four-wheeler had a plow

but I knew that it wouldn’t be able to

keep up with the deep snow.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

worry pounded in my chest,

my mind racing through every

possible situation that could

go wrong.

when I finally returned to safety

I checked the forecast again,

hoping the blaring red would calm

and that somehow the vicious snow

would suddenly cease its endless assault.

every thirty minutes,

the snow crashed and tumbled

as my plow slowly pushed it back,

deepening the trench of our driveway

with every pass.

the hours built walls around us,

towering higher and higher

until suddenly

everything stopped moving.

stuck.

the snow whorled around me

and piled onto the rigid

plow before me.

I desperately tugged but

it was no use.

I trudged to the house

and grabbed the keys for our

white Isuzu Trooper.

with some tow ropes,

I made the journey to

our stranded four wheeler

to try to pull it from the driveway.

stuck.

I took in a shaky breath and watched

as it fought the snow

on my exhale.

I shivered and trudged to the house

to grab the keys for our

blue and grey

Mitsubishi Montero.

I searched for more tow ropes and

planned my rescue operation.

stuck.

my sigh seeped into my bones

and dug into the freezing air.

the storm thought it had won

and for now, I accepted the defeat.

my head hung low as I trudged

through the snow one last time

to find safety within the warmth

of our house.

I knew something was wrong

as soon as I stepped through the door.

I retreated to our bedroom and

my wife greeted me,

hand gripping her stomach

as she laid carefully on our bed.

I’m having labor pains.

panic.

my hands shook as I

called every person who

could possibly help

save us from truly losing

this battle.

no one was available.

no one could help us.

we were stuck.

we started to search

and search

for how to home deliver

a child.

we tried to reassure ourselves

that if we knew how to

confront this new challenge

we’d be okay.

we were as ready as we could be

for something we weren’t ready for.

I couldn’t let my mind wander to

the million things that could go wrong.

instead I tried to find a way to

punish the angering storm,

to find a way to clear three feet

of snow from our stretching

uphill driveway.

…

our daughter wasn’t born that day,

and eventually the pains had

subsided to the point that we knew

we were going to be okay.

we were imprisoned for three days

inside our own home before

the snow finally relented and

called off the war it had waged on us.

a neighbor freed us,

his tractor blowing memories

of what had devastated us

just days prior.

he shielded us from the remains

of our enemy as we followed

him through the wasted

battlefield and onto the road

to finally make our way to

the hospital.

on february 14th, 2007,

we got over 34 inches of snow.

but we were safe.

December 16, 2022

Free Verse Poetry

Public CNF (My Father)