January 20, 2021

This morning the snow
lowered so slowly, I was able
to lift my son—still in pajamas—
and show him each delicate
tendril of frost, the arctic structure
of a solitary flake. I was able
to make coffee and think only
of making coffee, a sensation
so sudden and dangerous
in its delight, I had to dilute it
by burning the toast. This morning
I breathed deeply, clicked on
the television and watched—
for a moment—a Boeing VC-25 fade
over our capital and dwindle
from sight. Nothing says revenge
like dwindle from sight. Later,
I’ll hear the new president pledge
to be better, try a bit harder.
I will try to believe him
the way a child believes a father
in an overcoat, by the door.
But for now, all is quiet.
My coffee tastes delicious,
and nothing says revenge like
the stillness of snow.

Copyright © 2022 by Jared Harél. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 20, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.

Subscribe to the Poem-a-Day Podcast 

  

“This is a poem centered on joy, and the difficulty in letting that peculiar emotion back into my writing and, to some extent, my life. As the poem title indicates, I drafted this in the hours leading up to the 2021 Presidential Inauguration. It was a wondrous, snowy morning in Queens, New York, and I remember looking out the window with my five-year-old son, just watching each flake fall. I guess you can say this poem is me allowing myself, against better judgement, to exhale.”
—Jared Harél