Posts Tagged ‘Katy Bennett’

The evening is quiet as dusk descends on this, the first night of spring, and . . . it’s snowing.  It’s lovely.  And this is the first night of spring, in Indiana, a land not known for its proximity to the North Pole.

Actually the snow had started as I was walking home this afternoon.  I had been suffering from a bad cold, getting better now, but at doctor’s orders I was bearing meds from the drugstore downtown.  My thought was then that it was nice as I crossed the University campus, still not too cold outside and only a few small flakes, much nicer than rain.  But now it’s coming down with some fervor, covering the wet still almost too warm ground, though probably to amount to no more than an inch or two by the time it’s done according to the Weather Channel.  And, once again, while snow even in early April is not unknown in Indiana, still it is the first night of Spring.

But it’s nice.  And so to celebrate, herewith a poem — a lagniappe — of a previous season.  “Winter’s Still” was originally published in PANIC (Sam’s Dot Publishing, 2005) and reprinted in the British e-zine DARK METRE, edited by Katy Bennett, on September 4 2011 (cf. for the latter September 4, June 8 2011).  The text here is as it was sent to DARK METRE.

 

WINTER’S STILL

You know
how snow
blankets sound,
makes all white,
deadens sight,
blinding in sun —
silent —
new snow falls
covering steps
left behind.
Masking all.
Where is home?
Wind whistles now,
cold seeps
freezing bone,
shadows long,
lost — a patchwork
of woods, hollows,
mounds.
Quiet, white.
Heart beats then,
pounding,
fear sets in.
Attempts to flee.
Heaped drifts
inhibit flight,
tangled steps,
falling —
knees sinking —
and cloud
brings the night.

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