It snowed in the night and the parked cars changed
into strange potatoes. A man with a motorized plough
began early. His machine could be heard grinding
the light dusting, really for all intents and purposes,
a sparkling. He traversed the same lane by the graves
over and over. Overhead, in a plane, passengers ate
small, perfectly rendered carrots. They fell asleep
not reading subtitles on screens, not dreaming specifically.
Of multiple moons, a soft landing. Or of a sudden test
in which they were asked to quickly name any song
they loved, or at the very least, liked, and found, much
to their own dismay, they couldn’t think of even one.
BIO: Michelle Meier is a writer, photographer, school administrator and art teacher. Her
work has been published in The 2River View, The Dialogist, and elsewhere. In 2011, she
was nominated for Pushcart Prize. She lives in Washington Heights, New York.