Gil Hoy is a widely published and Best of the Net nominated Tucson, Arizona poet and writer who studied poetry and writing at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A . in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. While at BU, Hoy was on the wrestling team and finished in second place in the New England University Wrestling Championships at 177 lbs. He served as an elected Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy is a semi-retired trial lawyer. His work has recently appeared in Best Poetry Online, Muddy River Poetry Review,  The Galway Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Rusty Truck,  Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Penmen Review, Misfit Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Chiron Review, The New Verse News and elsewhere.


The phone rings.
My sister, Sally, is calling.
Mother isn’t expected
to live through the night.
It’s a frigid evening
in mid-October.
I’m watching the snow fall
through my kitchen window.
Pine trees
are crusted with snow.
Cold, dark and deep.
A squally wind is filled with snow.
White shadowed in black.
I didn’t call mother
as often as I should have.
And now it’s too late.
I’m sitting all alone
in my penthouse apartment.
Thinking about those
who lived here before me.
Our executive chef made steak
tonight. The finest cuts.
Steak with twice-baked potatoes
and Domaine de Villaine wine.
Dirty dishes cluttered the sink.
Sour cream and cheddar cheese
coated the dishes.
Julie took care of it. She keeps
the apartment largely tidy and clean.
Sally says the doctors told her
mother’s condition
is deteriorating rapidly.
Terminal cancer. Sally can’t stop crying.
She and mother were particularly close.
Steak and twice-baked potatoes
was our kids’ favorite meal.
They’ve moved away
and don’t call us much
anymore. My sister asks if I can come
to New York for the funeral.
I say I’ll try. I’ve been working
around the clock
to close a Wall Street merger.
I’m staring out the kitchen window
looking at the falling snow.
White shadowed in black.
I wonder who lived here before me?
And did they have
families of their own?
Were they lawyers, doctors,
professors and businessmen?
Silicon Valley tycoons,
Hollywood actors and hedge fund
managers? I’ve decided to have my room
painted Royal Blue. I’ll hire the best painter
I can find. I wonder if my room
has been painted before
with all the colors of the rainbow.
Shades of red, orange,
yellow, green.
blue, indigo and violet.
How many others
have looked out
my kitchen window
and watched the snow fall?
I’ve seen it over and over again.
Cold, dark and deep.
The same snow,
through the same window,
falling on the same frozen ground.
Sally won’t stop crying. And now
I’m crying. I’ll buy a first class ticket
and go to New York for the funeral.
I’ll stay for a day. It’s only October
and it’s already snowing hard.
It’s going to be a long, cold winter.
How did it get so late so early?