Snow in November


Anastasia Sichel Hahn

She never even did anything special

it was just her at a table full of empty chairs.

Most years she would take a walk around the silent neighborhood

all the noise moved inside.

She would stop at the lit up windows,

standing out orange in the cool dusk light.

She could see the happy lives inside, and she felt a pang in her chest,


People of all ages hugging those they loved,

grandfathers sitting around the table, having lively conversations,

first cousins, and their cousins, working to make the feast that would soon be laid out.

A pie straight from the kitchen

pumpkin, usually. 

It always looked so cozy inside

the fire was burning,

but it was the smiles that warmed the room. 

And on the cold November day,

She wished it would snow.

At least then she would have some company,

and an excuse for why it was so quiet.

She was past the years of intruding on her close friends’ family gatherings,

now all she wanted was to be back in one of those lively rooms,

a hot apple cider warming her cold hands,

surrounded by friendly chatter that she didn’t even have to take part in to enjoy.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if she hadn’t once known that feeling,

of leaving late into the brisk night,

and there were so many cars in the driveway she would have to wait for everyone to take theirs,

and laugh with her uncle, who would press a little gold necklace into her hand,

“something to remember me by.” 

If she hadn’t known how much she was missing, maybe it would hurt less.

Now she trudged back to her house,

a little gold necklace against her cold skin,

orange windows lining the sky and cars lining the street. 

She wondered what pumpkin pie tasted like,

she  knew if she made it herself it wouldn’t taste as it did

in a room full of love. 

But a flake of snow fell from the sky,

and soon she was surrounded by a friend she knew and loved. 

She took a  bite of the pumpkin pie in her warm kitchen,

and a tear rolled down her cheek.

It did taste as she remembered.

Maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought,

always in the presence of warm memories.