Geneva Kropper


When I was small, I made a snowball,
I wrapped it in tissue and packed it tight.
My small, stubby fingers nestled it between frozen peas and apple pies,
Safe, so it would never melt.
Every day, coming home, I smiled when I saw it still lying there.

Days passed and summer turned into winter, and winter into spring.
My icy friend kept the world safe, with a filter of innocence.
On the television, airplanes crashed, and buildings burned.
My parents fought, and my new sister cried.
But my snowball stayed cold and firm, and I saw nothing.

Days turned into months, and stubby fingers stretched,
Pies were eaten, and corn defrosted.
Crispy peas munched on straight out of the freezer bag.
Eleven years passed, and one day, the power went out.
Among the destroyed popsicles and ice-cream, a forgotten snowball melted into a puddle.

Cleaning out the broken freezer, a few years later,
my hands felt cold and wet.
Pulling out a shard of ice, once a puddle, before that, a snowball
I imagined, holding it, the innocent world of my childhood until i felt it dripping,
through my fingers, and onto the floor.


Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.