Snow Globes

Snow Globes 
	
There are tableaux we make out 
of  dinner plates, a child’s lost sock,
a father’s coat on the bannister,
the silent, stuck smile of a mother
stirring steam into endless errands—
windows frosting into the same patterns,
altars of dusty decades accumulating unnoticed   
in twice told stories, reupholstered sorrows,
all the slow cyclones of repetition caught under glass
waiting for a hand to lift the dome, or at least tilt it 
just enough to rearrange the weather.