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