‘Snow’ by Jared Beloff

Snow on House
by Tucker Lieberman

Snow

snow falls sideways,
comets across street lamps
like our small bodies 
clinging to a silken line,
jumping the current’s tumult
as helmets sweep and clatter.
we hold on to the blocking sled
leaning like cut grass, pushing,
through muddied skies, pulsing
a few more yards downfield. 
coach’s mossy teeth crack open,
as he stands like a god, like a father.  
our cleats root, mixing with mud, 
spit, tobacco, our blisters torn open, 
bleeding: we hold on
before breaking, knowing
all movement is brutal, 
delicate as a cicada’s shell,
their amber shadow gripping bark
on the trees behind the equipment shed 
where we dropped our bikes
too hurried for kickstands. 
snow falls in tangled chains, 
bending the wind,
taking the form of oak trees 
melting before we can see them: 
vapor rises from our heads, 
a reverse baptism 
vanishing like prayer
into a black sky 
helmets in our hands, 
bodies still.


Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. You can find his work in littledeathlit, Neologism Poetry Journal and the forthcoming issues of Wine Cellar Press and the Westchester Review. Follow him on Twitter @read_instead and online at www.jaredbeloff.com.


Tucker Lieberman is the author of three nonfiction books and a bilingual poetry book. A sonnet was published in Animal Heart, and his short fiction is in STORGY. His photography has appeared on the covers of Crack the Spine, Ponder, and Nightingale & Sparrow. He lives in Bogotá, Colombia. www.tuckerlieberman.com Twitter: @tuckerlieberman.