FINDING SPACE DURING WINTER FOR A SINGLE THOUGHT ABOUT SPRING by R. Nikolas Macioci

Mounds of plowed snow look like bumpy sheep's wool, 
and even though sun is brighter than an arc lamp, it will 

take many days for these mountainous accumulations 
to melt.  Temperatures have stayed below zero for two 

weeks.  During these interminable, January days, 
spring exists as an elusive phantom, a season wished for,  

unattainable as perfect love.  It has been a difficult winter 
with few reprieves and fewer snowmen, because snow 

has been too flaky to roll.  This recent snowfall almost 
rivals the blizzard of '78, during which uncle Toots died, 

and I moved in with Aunt Liz, his wife.  Two
ruddy-checked, young men hauled my uncle's body 

from the bedroom to the ambulance, battling a squall 
and numbing cold.  Contrast between the men's youth 

and the body they carried stamped an unforgettable image 
in my mind about mortality.   Meanwhile, I have 

confidence that beneath frozen ground, daffodils wait 
for spring's announcement and will eventually slip out 

of the soil like a yellow surprise and color the air with hope.

About the Poet:

R. Nikolas Macioci earned a PhD from The Ohio State University. Nik is the author of twenty-three books. He was twice nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, nominated five times for a Pushcart Prize, and twice for a Best of the Net award.  His poems have appeared in such magazines as The Hong Kong Review, The Bombay Review, The Raven’s Perch, The Main Street Rag, Xavier Review, and Taj Mahal Review.