Southern snow is measured in inches and years.

A mother stares out across the covered grass.

Under the whiteness she sees ice and missed hours at work.

She sees the slick slush her car’s tires won’t be able to grip.

She hears the voices of the local news on repeat,
The frenzy before a big snow that threathens to force everyone home.

She thinks of batteries and cans,
Wondering if she has enough.

Standing at her knee, a daughter smiles.