The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review
littlereview

Poem for Thursday


Two Figures

negotiate their way across a frozen lake,
careful not to touch, careful not to upset
each other's balance. The house is quiet;
I have been thinking about them all evening
and now, my window spills across the ice
the narrow path of light they are walking on.
It's hard to see but I think the smaller one
is a woman; her parka sparks some color —
though all colors go neutral in the dark.
When I breathe out, I breathe a lake
on the inside of the glass.
For a few seconds, it totally obscures them,
until the little lake I've made starts melting
and the two come clear again.

I can't hear them but I imagine the man
is remembering another lake, how his skateblades
cut through the black shine beneath him,
his body shattering the lake's pane of glass.
I think the woman wishes she had been the one
to cast her scarf across the ice and rescue him,
but now his presence only makes her lonelier.
I think he's just said something that's hurt her
enough to make her stop.
He must be sorry, because he's stopped too.
I can't see them but I feel the cold
between them, and must wait until the lake
on the window clears again.

Now one of them is talking instead of listening.
One of them is in danger. Their words fly
like white birds out of their mouths.
I wish I could stop them a minute, stop them
from hurting each other, but which words
would I put back in their mouths?
They are almost on the bank below me
and soon they will want to come in.
If only I could hold them off a little longer,
for a little longer keep them anonymous
and safe, before they will become me.

-- Jane Shore

--------


Howl for the morning: Hobbits in Oz. I am NOT making the Friends of Dorothy comment. (But yeah, obviously I am thinking it.)

Gacked from vertigo66. To be honest, I have never liked Jane Austen. I must be a really bad feminist literary scholar by definition. No wonder I dropped out of grad school.

fanny
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