Thursday, March 17, 2011


That morning,
as the news chattered

about broken records
we discovered the sandbox

––a haven for all things
static and plasticized––

frozen solid. The arms
of plastic men beckoned.

The maples bent over
with interest and ice.

With a few hours of work,
the action figures could have been

drying on the dish rack,
Spider Man dwarfed

by the china platter,
The Hulk roaring

face down into the dish towel,
but the howling alarm

from across the street
of a car impaled

by a fallen tree limb
shook us instead

into discovering
how difficult it is to tell

the difference between
shattered glass and ice.


gautami tripathy said...

Liked this. The images...the flow...

lost in a maze

Jingle said...

enjoyed it.
well said.

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LKHarris-Kolp said...

Enjoyed this piece... lovely images.


Tumblewords: said...

Excellent -

vivinfrance said...

I love the way you told this story.

Kim Nelson said...

Brilliant imagery and restrained emotion here. Well done!

Judy Roney said...

This poem reminded me of my sons toys and then the surprise at the end, beautifully crafted. I could see it all up to and including glass that looks like ice. The maples bent over
with interest and ice.

Anonymous said...

OMG, this is incredible. You had me playing in a frozen sandbox and then impaled me with a horrific accident. So much what life is about, the unexpected. Don't think I've visited your blog before. Enjoyed it.

Cathy said...

perfect, I know what ice can do to trees and cars. So far it hasn't been mine either

Jingle Poetry said...

unbeatable job...

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