Wife opposed to salting,
too sore to shovel,
he is out in the middle
of the third largest blizzard to hit
the east coast,
sweeping.
His father died when he was fifteen,
so light by that time, my father
could lift him
and would lift him
him up the stairs.
My grandfather fought Nazis
in Italy
sweeping mortar shells and broken bone
shards. Here, out my window
I see grey snow.
My father, one thousand
miles away, he also sees the same grey.
And my grandfather,
his ashes fall,
have been falling for 34 years,
grey against white snow.
