From my second floor kitchen,
I would sit on a high stool,
looking out our wide window
watching people pass by
on their way
to the post office next door,
the butcher shop,
or Muller's Drug Store
on the corner.
There was the smell of diesel
from the buses,
sounds of honking horns,
the slam of the post office
truck's door,
and a constant parade of cars.

When it snowed late in the night,
traffic slowed to just a few cars.
The island that separated
north and south bound traffic
had tall, silver lampposts
shining their light on the slant
of the lusty falling flakes.
Then, I could see this was how
it should be, sacred and holy;
the busy boulevard turning
into another world, white as clouds,
hiding grime below its blanket of snow.


From Why I Miss New Jersey (Everhart Press, 2013).
Used here with permission.