cracking the ice

it happens

gradually, one lacey  flake,

another, settling softly so

you don’t notice. it’s march

’til you fathom the cold.


(how to hold on, almost

imperceptibly, one vibrancy

leaves, succumbing to elements

first layers flush with the lingering

promise of warmth.)


how deep must you go

to find something recognized

as your face, the frost lines mock

roots once believed to be vital


surely the thaw

will flow, and you

shall countenance anew

these seasons of stripping, of numbing

of losing, becoming

your self over and again.


but how small this seed,

scarified, to root a thread,

the merest

from which to grow.


you thought mistakenly

you were a tree, of grandeur, rooted and firm

but lo, a harsh and biting season

tendered that hardened shell.

at last.


praise the earth.




 frozen in time

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M.C. Reardon


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