CURRENT MOON

Monday, July 03, 2006

Cold


It's steamy hot outside and every weed, flower, shrub, tree, and blade of grass is growing so fast that you can almost see it. So I enjoyed the fact that Poetry Magazine posted Annie Boutell's poem about cold:

COLD

Rime rings the rock:

ink freezes; wine congeals
to splintered stars;
on passing boats, men,

tied to the bows, lean
and strike the ice, jockeys
whipping their horses,

whack-whacking what
was once a wave
but clings now, builds,

and hauls boats down.
We are bound by ice.
Father heats a coin

on the stove, holds
it in his leather glove,
presses it against

the darkened glass,
and watches as heat
chases ice. Through

a penny-sized hole,
we peer at a round
and polished world

of hardening water.

No comments: