Snapshot Poems 2004
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Snapshot 29 December 02004 – Tsunami
Montage-a-google|tsunami via Chasing Daisy It’s beyond comprehension. Each morning, the number grows: 22,000; 44,000, 58,000, 76,000 — This entire city, its booksellers, its bureaucrats, its shopkeepers, gone. Homes, grocery stores, apartment buildings, libraries, swept away. Its grandmothers, gardeners, carpenters, and all of its children, dead. Bodies in the broken streets. It’s beyond imagining. this morninga… Continue reading
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Snapshot 22 December 02004For Árni Ibsen
Yesterdaywas theshortestday. Snowcame. Itsilencedus all. I tryto hearinvisiblestringspulsingbeneaththe snow- banks,or tinyparticlesbouncingoff ofeach other.I am listeningveryhard.I amwaitingfor yourvoice. Continue reading
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Snapshot 15 December 02004
Nights expand to holdthe waxing moon. Fogin the mornings, and newsnow on the mountains.Days shrink and cling too close together. Alreadythe clothes need washing,cupboards are empty,the cats’ bowls bare. Dustaccumulates in corners like growing shadows.Didn’t I do all this justyesterday? Or was itthe day before? I closethe shutters against a bright snow-filled night, but waketo… Continue reading
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Snapshot 08 December 02004
Winter is hazardous. The world around my house is a sheet of ice, scattered with thin, dry snow. Windows bloom with frost, birch branches bare on the other side. I stay indoors, still stiff and sore from a fall two days ago. The dogs beg for a walk; they will not have one. Yesterday, the… Continue reading
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Thanksgiving [Snapshot]
These creatures, who companion me. These friends, who sustain me. These poets, who inspire me. This house, which shelters me. This garden, which feeds me. This stone, which teaches me. This changing moon, which comforts me.This earth, which absolves me. This ground, which will receive me. These readers, you, who encourage me. Continue reading
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