Snow Twigs


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     SNOW TWIGS

 

That’s our name for them, the hundreds of them

fallen onto the snowcrust

 

from the great trees that arch our house:

Chinese scroll poems

 

crows and grackles walk among,

eating ice crystals. Or sometimes

 

they seem like scragglers from a tiny beaten army

caught in a white montage. Low morning sun

 

casts their shadows into one another,

they become wedged

 

in a place there’s no returning from;

the wind twists them oddly. Many

 

lie half-buried. Others form little bridges

going nowhere to nowhere. A few are gathered

 

in a snarl of dead leaves. Our backyard stone fence

is scattered with them all along its length

 

as if they tried to conquer it and fell

on its ramparts of purpose. Yet, if living

 

and the snow was white moss,

in its whorled drift under our ivy trelllis,

 

that one, or those off by themselves—sepia, lacy, delicate—

could almost be flowers.

 

-Dick Allen

                                                                      first published in Pivot #45

 

 

 

 

 

Categories: Poems & PhotosTags: , , , , ,

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