Decades ago, my parents drove
Us children here in our mini-van
The weekend after a heavy rain.
We could see the snowcapped peaks
From miles away.
I wore a sweatshirt,
The thickest jacket I owned,
And a pair of tall black rubber boots
That had an awkward fit.
We followed the road
On a winding incline
And noted with excitement
Every few minutes
The increasingly larger patches of snow,
Which not one of us had ever seen before.
I could feel the cold by placing my hand
To the window. At the top, near a park,
The ground was blanketed in white.
People were walking and playing
Inside this tucked-away wonder.
We pulled over
Across from the only post office
And restaurant in town. We stepped out
Into the cold air, breathed in,
And put on mittens. My brother and I
Took our green and blue boogey boards
Meant for the surf, found a hill,
And rode down again and again
Until we were tired.
From a red thermos our mother poured
Hot chocolate into cups
That warmed our hands and lips.
We packed and threw snowballs.
Our father helped us build a snowman,
Found two rocks for eyes.
I have a photograph of that time —
Our family huddles together,
Holding one another, smiling
As we stand in something wholly unfamiliar.
Here the snow never melts,
It is always gathered around us.
I am a child. I believe
My parents love each other.
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