In Southeast Lower Michigan, a Chance of Snow after Midnight

The wind repeats itself
                       and repeats itself, galloping down
All the usual causeways. Those on the outskirts

Remain there, vigilant on the outskirts, renewing their vows
To the outposts.
                       Night will pass

By—a boat low in the water, motor cut—whether or not you sleep,
Whether or not you sense the snow beginning, twinge
In a dream, twinge in the trapezium

Bone of the left hand. When the day comes it will break
                       too bright—the light insisting
On perimeters, every branch and ledge handfasted

To its outline in white and shriven, shriven. Just look
At what these winters have done
To me. Here I am standing on the snow where it has fallen
                       thick over the creek and crusted. Here,

Where the creek still sings
                                     its little broken song underneath.
Molly Spencer’s poetry has appeared in FIELD, Gettysburg Review, New England Review,
and elsewhere. Her critical writing has appeared at Colorado Review, Kenyon
Review Online, The Rumpus,
and Tupelo Quarterly. Molly holds an MFA from the Rainier
Writing Workshop and is Poetry Editor at The Rumpus. She teaches writing at the
University of Michigan’s Ford School of Public Policy.

NOTE: A phrase in this poem is patterned off the phrase "Just look what the mountains/

have done to me," from Vievee Francis's poem "Everywhere and Here Too."