The Sky Empties Herself

The sky pleaded all day to start the weather event.

In January, that can mean anything here.

Farmers talk about it.

Strangers fill spaces with talk about it.

Children long for abundant, beveled edges to transform sputtering
into a beehive of flakes and flurry white as anger.

And we who work worry about the walks and drives
that fill a bushel basket full of fear,
just to arrive at the lopsided teetering lives

bludgeoned by obligation and benefits, not a true reward.

Tonight the sky empties herself willingly,
with ice and forceful snows,
until we manage to sleep in the silence
of not knowing anything, but how to simply surrender.