by Alessandra Lynch
In the icestorm ice dropping out
of the sky Meteorite Ice our mothers said
On Wish Ave. I am heading toward you driving
toward you blue tailpipe smoke in tow
Now the ice is little fish-bones
tinkling down on my windshield
an occasional shank of ice clanking
but mostly on Wish Ave. the sounds are small
and light a little frightened as though deigned
Impermissable even in slightest action
such as dropping themselves through tender air sharp trees
deigned Impermissable by our Icy Mothers our little bones
tinkling down Violent is the wind that won’t
budge Violent the blocked-up stoppered Wind
of our Mothers Heading to you in the ice
storm I can’t find my blood I am frozen
incapacitated by Ice but I am moving
in a clear direction that I know by heart
determined unflagging as is my sense of Failure
that is in part moving me toward you
“Thank you for sending me Silence”
said Beckett I can see you through bare trees
