frozen again. Lumpy, thick. Resists
ice pick and shovel.
2. Edges of snowbanks under sun become granular,
loose. Clear beads, slick
with their own meltwater.
3. On a deep puddle, transparent sheet floats,
rigid. Fingertip presses down,
pushes it under.
4. This one gives a little, springs back. Sloshes the water beneath,
spurts it out from the edges. Bounces, bounces,
cracks, gives way.
5. Half ice, half slush. Broken chunks
swim in a brown puddle.
6. Thin skin of an air pocket, lace-edged, glass-brittle,
easily smashed underfoot. An early-morning type,
gone by midday.
7. A mere sheen on the sidewalk.
Treacherous. But this, too,
will disappear by noon.
4 comments:
Hey Joanne,
I like how this one moves. It's simultaneously a field guide, a meditation, and a matter-of-fact description.
I like how each is subtly different - the compound words in part 6, for instance.
I wonder what would happen if you made each one obviously different - each with its own predominant device or vowel/consonant sound...
Anyways, nice!
I really like number 6 and 7 here. With some of the others, I'd like to see you try to name them more precisely, esp. #4.
Joanne,
Great idea. Like the parts. I agree with both Ariel and Kerry about making each a specific ice, a few of the details overlap, ie both puddles. I like Ariel's suggestion of sound.
Fave is #5.
Wonderful premise. Great comments.
Maybe keeping each one to two lines, as works so well in the most effective ones, might help?
Maybe each one could be tagged first with a descriptive name or word in italics?
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