Emma Lee

Snow’s Reset

The roofs blend with the snow-laden clouds,
borders softened so it’s only memory
that differentiates my space from my neighbour’s.
The wet smell confuses pets whose footprints
meander over territorial edges, leave crazed
patterns like a splattering of ink on the page,
because a sheet of paper can never be left blank.
It invites new discovery, a reset, chance
to reinterpret the world, an erasing of prejudice
and preconception. Not quite a new start,
memories linger, shaping the whiteness
into what was known. More a question
of perception: that lump is my fence,
that bump last year’s irises, under that smooth
patch, mud covering and nurturing new growth.