snow globes

it's all a series 
of snow globes, really.
everyone has them.
i know it's inevitable  
that somedays i'm in someone
else's jar of water & fake snow 
& other days i'm shaking it.
on monday it snowed out
of no where & i blamed 
my neighbor.
i make one for every
house i've lived in, 
line them up in a row
on the shelf & pluck one up
to shake as i pace 
the hall, sleepless.
the one i'm holding now
is of the house on main street
that they tore down
right after we moved,
there's no house there
at all anymore so as i
handle the cool sphere 
i wonder where on earth
i might be making chaos
if you shake a snow globe
too hard the snow turns to salt
& then to red, which 
could be ash or blood or
even just flecks of red confetti
i've never shaken one that
hard but a few summers ago
i walked outside my dorm
& red flecks fell all over me
dyed my skin in the places
where they dropped
no clouds out 
bright too-loud sun
the hands of an unknown person
shaking in a steady rapid rhythm
i have a snow globe
of my parents house
but i don't shake it
i often take the clunky
thing to bed with me
set it by my pillow
or wrap my arms around it
as i sleep i imagine i cause
light sporadic snowfall
it makes me want to drive
there in the morning just
to park in their driveway 
& see the layer of dust 
on everything
i don't think my mom
uses her snow globes
she doesn't seem to care 
for the kind of intimacy
i assume then
it must be all my father
like me i think he might
sleep with them
maybe in the old rocking chair
he holds my house 
never never shaking it 
just staring &
thinking about what it
would feel like if
salt rained down 
on me.