Of Imagination and Memories II.iv

Sophie Kerr Portfolio

II: Self-Portrait as Wind

January

The last nights of the month

are moon-silvered stubble fields,

heavy frosts glinting under

sharp stars, and crackling walks.

Too many points are breaking

under your feet, yet you test the ice.

Cracks from your pressing foot

are reminders of the breaking point.

Afterwards you picked up shards

of broken words scattered among cut

stalks; they were sharp enough

            to slice thin veins, leaving icy slivers

to lodge under the skin and cold

words to sink into the bloodstream.

The frozen river calls: lie down

on the ice, feel the breaking again.

 

Since turning in my portfolio, I have revised this poem yet again. (It has undergone many revisions since turning in the initial draft for poetry class in March.) Here's the revised version. Perhaps the final version, perhaps not.

January

The last nights of the month

are moon-silvered stubble fields,

heavy frosts glinting under

sharp stars, and crackling walks.

You always end at wintering

docks where you can see the past

floating under your feet,

barely frozen, yet you test the ice.

Cracks shoot out, reminders

of November’s breaking point.

Then you had picked up shards

of words scattered among cut

stalks; they were sharp enough

            to slice veins, leaving icy slivers

under your skin and cold words

sinking into your bloodstream.

The frozen river calls: lie down

on the ice, feel the breaking again.