photo: ralph murre
Ice
Storm Woman
When winter isn’t cold
enough, you collect this natural loss in bits—like you might pocket specks of
light from oak caskets. You remember
frozen caves lined with dried pine needles and mauve crystals drifting…where
water is stone, and stone is your companion, the reflection of your translucent
bones pulled down by the pulse of forest roots.
Rest now, for soon you will search for another home, like an ordinary
woman who takes fond leave of her old lover.
I offer you sienna ribbons of prairie cord grass alongside this ice
water creek. Let the winds deliver
themselves.
~ first published in Wisconsin Academy Review
