Salt

In the event of a blizzard
There is period
of impending blizzard
Where trucks spray salt
on the streets
And Doppler radar monitors
the motions of the front
Moving, heaving,
crawling across the Midwest
And even though we watch
the weather — we know
exactly where, and when,
and how it will hit us,
its movements all a pattern —
We can do nothing
Not one thing
to stop it
So we salt the roads

But I guess
Somebody
I guess, one
morning, I guess
Somebody forgot
to salt the street
by my house
And the road was blanketed
with this frozen carpet
so pristine
and pretty and yet
Even though it was
beautiful there were
lines underneath
we couldn’t see
Two vehicles
on a collision course
And did you know
that snow is
a little bit like space
so that they
crashed
in silence

Prompt: Negative

I had completely hit a wall in my writing workshop class. Our final story was due in two days and I hadn’t been able to write anything. I begged my friend for a prompt, and she told me to write something inverse, something that starts with a negative photograph. This is the product:

It snows for days without stopping up here, coating the conifers at the ragged edge of the tree line, painting the needles so that they stand out white against the darkening sky, like a photograph in negative. It is night for days and days for nights up here. This far north, the sun doesn’t work the same. At first, insomnia creeps through the blinds, through the bottom of the door, through every centimeter of separation between the curtains. Then the darkness, rolling in like fog off the sea at the end of this long day’s journey, kicking off heavy boots, sitting down at the dinner table, demanding to be fed.