Tom Sexton lives in Alaska most of the time and sometimes Down East in Maine. He and his wife, Sharyn, are bicoastal citizens of North America. He grew up in Lowell and stayed through high school years, and has come back regularly to check on the city. He’s in the Lowell High Hall of Fame and served as Poet Laureate of Alaska. His latest book is full of Lowell poems: Cummiskey Alley. You can order a copy here. 

Photo courtesy of Kevin Harkins

Old Man Walking in Snow

Three crows chatting in a leafless tree

adjusting their glossy black gowns

like oblates like magistrates

glancing down at me

as April snow begins to fall.

It covers the ground in a blink.

I try to catch a flake on my tongue.

I could be inside a magical globe

a snow-globe like no other

following crow tracks toward Labrador

in snow that will never cease to come down.

Snowman

Two lumps of coal,

not buttons, for eyes,

for a nose a carrot

that’s almost hooked;

where did his maker

find that derby

sitting on his head?

His crow-black scarf

is stiff like tar is stiff;

and why is he facing

the North Atlantic

with its funereal wind,

its pounding surfs

so far from any town?