Powder

I didn’t know about Cortina and Chamonix

And Vail, where the snow glimmers like diamonds spliced

Into the mountain slope,

So close to the marigold sun.

In the Bronx, the snow covered the sidewalks,

We played just long enough to see it melt into a polish

That devoured the sun.

Tia burned her mother

Rafael overdosed on the roof,

Carlos and Marcelino pitched a man from that roof

Walking to PS 11, we saw men asleep while standing,

Waking just long enough to want to doze for life_

So, you ski, ha?

Tell me about powder.

About the pinnacle, the high when all you see is white.

The boys I knew,

They never said the word “danger” the way that you do,

Casually and, remarkably, cooly

“The danger of leaving resort grounds to climb back country slopes, the thrill…”

On a winter night, when the moon shed so much light

You could dance on the streets,

I saw a man bleeding under the oak benches of the Bronx Diner; someone dragged him out

To bleed in the mud… Snow.