Snow is a letter sent by my father
\nand in it he writes:
\nDrop words
\nAnd chase after
\nsnow monkeys,
\nthe ones whose tails
\nare on fire,
\nstill their screams
\nin thermal waters,
\nand lull the broken
\nanimals to sleep<\/p>\n
inside your arms<\/p>\n
underneath the glass
\ndome of light.<\/p>\n
Om.<\/p>\n
My own letters write
\nthe hands at night
\nwith blue stars and clouds.
\nStick-figure symbols sink
\ninto the flesh of the living<\/p>\n
until the earthly body
\nis swept clean<\/p>\n
Hum.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter sent by my mother
\nand in it she writes:
\nOpen your dead horse blinds
\nand leave
\nthem alone until it’s time
\nto sleep.
\nWatch the Mississippi shimmer
\nthe eye coins of memory,
\nstudy its ink,
\nhow it carries slabs of ice as gifts.<\/p>\n
Receive.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter inside
\nan envelope stuffed
\nwith human breath
\nmixed with the howl of
\nthe Burlington Northern,
\nnests of elm tree twigs,
\ngoose droppings, wild
\ngrapes, ducks clucking,
\nwhite mist hissing
\nin the roadside ditch,
\nand the snow is
\nneither open or sealed.<\/p>\n
Our hands decide the task.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter sent by my sister
\nand in it she writes:
\nI lived a life for others
\ntying shoes and washing
\ntowels and shaking rugs
\nand received a life
\nseed by seed.
\nI counted them at night
\nas the moon befriended me.<\/p>\n
My life was lived for others
\nand I believe those I lived for
\nunderstand<\/p>\n
why I don’t need anything.<\/p>\n
Release.<\/p>\n
By the command of the ice ghosts
\nthe evening enters
\nthe hawk’s shadow.<\/p>\n
No one hides.<\/p>\n
It sees.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter sent by my brother
\nand in it he writes:
\nI am a perpetual sinner
\nwhose sins lurk inside my brain
\nenough to scare me
\ninto never wanting to be alone.
\nGod gave me a blanket, which I love
\nto wear wherever I go.
\nIt is made of oily purple wool,
\nfurtive whispers, and dripping icicles<\/p>\n
and when I drive down the road,
\nsinging in my car,<\/p>\n
I dissolve.<\/p>\n
Reborn.<\/p>\n
Letters drop from the sky,
\nan unruly flock of salted crows,
\nblinking in naked trees.
\nThese birds nag and they peck,
\ninsistent, at face and fingers.<\/p>\n
They taste of dried chokecherries,<\/p>\n
surrendering
\nis bittersweet.<\/p>\n
I eat.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter written by love
\nand in it it writes:
\nthis and that and there and there
\nand here and here and here
\nand here, here, here and here
\nall is all and is all is
\nall is closer than the fat cat\ufffds ground
\nthe mouse befriends the grouse’s louse
\nthe wolf loves the porcupine\ufffds red wine<\/p>\n
and without logic<\/p>\n
we sing much more blissfully.<\/p>\n
Freed.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter I write often
\nand in it I write empty space
\nsince I prefer to dream:
\nOut from my parted mouth
\na jet black river
\nuncoils,
\nuncoils,
\nuncoils,<\/p>\n
sluggishly slithers.<\/p>\n
Alive.<\/p>\n
Snow is a letter inside
\nan envelope stuffed
\nwith human breath, the footsteps
\nof small red boots, the windowsill
\nI stood upon, the tickles
\nand the torture I received, the guitar,
\nJimmy Cracked Corn and Tannebaum,
\nthe Crusher and the Diamond,
\nthe life I lived, the lives of those
\nnearby who lived alternate destinies.<\/p>\n
All is all and is all is
\nall folded inside ice.
\nThe cat, the louse, the grouse, the squirrel,
\nthe mouse, the wolf, and the porcupine.
\nRed wine, the crows, the hawk,
\nthe shadow, the ducks and the geese. All star
\nwrestling, the chokecherries, my hands,
\nthe windowsill, red boots. The funeral,
\nAve Marie, O Christmas Tree, the hospitals,
\nthe lock, the cage, the misplaced keys.
\nThe shovel, the blood, the scar, the tombstones,
\nthe dream, the ice, the oak leaves. The dead
\nhorse, salvation, the book, the coins,
\nand bumblebees. The eyes shut tight,
\nthe ditch, the mist, the grapes, the wine,
\nthe guilt, the pleas. The howls, the rain,
\nthe cornsilk, the stars and clouds. The thunder,
\nthe basement stairs, the furnace room,
\nthe drawings on the wall. The cottonwood,
\nthe elm tree, its seeds, the snowman walks,
\nand the snow monkeys with their tails on fire
\nscream and scream and scream.<\/p>\n
Open it.<\/p>\n
The river stirred and swallowed,
\nlulled the broken animals<\/p>\n
to sleep inside its arms<\/p>\n
underneath the glass dome of light.<\/p>\n
The river breathes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Snow is a letter sent by my father and in it he writes: Drop words And chase after snow monkeys, the ones whose tails are on fire, still their screams in thermal waters, and lull the broken animals to sleep inside your arms underneath the glass dome of light. Om. My own letters write the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":437,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2793,2796],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems-art","category-solstice-nears"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/437"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/watercarrier\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}