Tuesday, April 1, 2008


She is sharp like the ice

That shatters on the pond

Where she walks

Glassy eyed fish float to the surface

Bubbled pops of air frozen in time

Breath captured in minute globes follow

She is hard like the glacier that does not melt

So cold and smooth with her dislikes

The skin of her face crackles into coarse feathers

Daring the hand to stroke and smooth them back

She is numb to the Chinook wind and does not melt

Sheryl McCurdy

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