Allergies

for Janet

On Mother’s Day it snows
in our backyard, the kind that grows
on cottonwoods and makes my nose
itch inside the nostrils, pinch half-closed
at the bridge but still drip; and as it blows
into the grass (the cotton, that is), I see your clothes
and the pet hair stuck in them—all those
rabbits, ducks, dogs, and cats that I suppose
you never thought about wanting, but chose
for your kids the way a tree knows
its seeds will fall, and makes pillows
for their landing when the wind throws
them beyond even your branches’ shadows.