Cold so bitter that a long draw
of air would pull the cilia inside your lungs;
grab a handful of these tiny hairs and pull
until the breath of air turned into a deep cough;
the snow,
so high, the clothes line was under our feet;
a state of emergency called and my Grandfather,
a policeman,
grabbed shovels and we all began digging him
out of a driveway with drifts way above our heads;

we dug tunnels in the mounds,
not even thinking that they could collapse;
out of school several days,
we played hours on freezing weather and
using socks as gloves.

I can still feel the sting inside my bones
when I think about that blizzard
of a lifetime;
I was eleven and loved every cold,
blustery day…

Michellia D. Wilson 8/13/2016

3 thoughts on “BLIZZARD OF ’78

  1. I have one of these memories, an ice storm in Oklahoma when I was 13 or 14. We took an old wooden ironing board, turned it upside down, and rode it down the hill again and and again.

    Well-written memory poem.

  2. I was eight, and a brand new transplant to Indiana from Florida, for the blizzard of ’78. I was certain every winter would be that magical, and what a letdown when I found out that was unusual! Thank you for the reminder of a bit of childhood magic.

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