PROSE POEM
STEVEN JAKOBI
A SNOWY AFTERNOON
His axe falls, logs crackle and tumble like bowling pins. Snow is building from the west, huge flakes begin to fall like so many white pom-poms cast by the goddess. He looks at the pewter-colored sky. An avalanche of memories; his childhood, so long ago, sixty years or more. The black construction paper, his paint brush dabbing huge white snowflakes on pleached tree limbs of his imagination. A child dreaming of a place where pines and spruce hide him, where a pincushion of stars and the night sky swallow him. His dreams lift him, young body buoyant, away, away, from the dreary fourth floor flat. He was always quiet, a loner. How blessed to be here now, an old man among the pines, chopping wood, the scent of pitch and fiber, his tongue eagerly tasting snowflakes.
Steven Jakobi is a retired biology professor. He lives in rural Allegany County, New York.
