poem: nashville snowglobe
by shannon moore
I threw the nashville snowglobe off a rooftop in brooklyn, but then ran down to see where it landed.
You cannot discard a memory this way. The rooftops here are too low; the yards a safety net of forgotten nativites.
The Baby Jesus wll break it's fall every time. And it will end up in your hand again, looking even more beautiful for it's injuries.
You might then question the significance of this tiny, glittering token, it's survival, and the softness of that ceramic child's hand.
But we all know: most things that look miraculous carry no significance at all. And we are safer burying them deep in the winter yard.
Just deep enough. I pushed the little dream down. I covered that snowglobe up like a tiny yard grave, and stood over it. But it was starting to rain.
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