Friday, January 27, 2012
"FOR THE LISTENER, WHO LISTENS IN THE SNOW..."
H. L. Hix
from "The God of Window Screens and Honeysuckle"
Stubble rows, four matte, four shiny in morning sun,/
show the combine’s direction. What can be preserved/
must be preserved as some self other than its own./
Bent cattails mimic stubble in the frozen pond./
Suet nearly gone, chickadees cling upside down/
to the feeder. Above it, a hedgeapple wedged/
between branches since fall. Past that, changing direction/
at once, fast as mackerel, a thousand blackbirds./
Skaters on a pond, we fall into what we know,/
drown in disorienting light before we freeze./
In angled afternoon sun, the fence’s shadow/
caresses the snow’s contours like tight-fitting clothes./
Even when grass greens to re-enact spring, the snow/
will linger, longest in the shadows of houses.