With Cousin Alice and the Mirrored Pond

    With Cousin Alice and the Mirrored Pond

First Published: The Weekly Avocet, Issue #162       

          Alice do you see your reflection on the frozen pond

          at the bottom of the hill? The hill lies in silence

          in the pasture of your father’s farm.

          The cows have gone elsewhere, but hoof prints remain

          on the frozen ground.

          The hidden sun’s dull glow streams through bare limbs,

          all fingers pointed toward gray skies.

          I take a moment to listen to winter’s stillness

          and stillness of our thoughts.

          The first deep breath of air stings my lungs.

          I take your bare hand, and although you’re older,

          I lead you across seamless ice as if you’re a skater.

          Without a word, our shared moves carve

          circles of the afternoon’s reflections,

          an afternoon shared.

          I see you as a ballerina, and spin you.

          You laugh a nervous laugh, but still stand.

          I let go of your hand for a moment,

          to look in your eyes and take in the sight of you,

          and you’re a sister to me.

          I ask if you believe in magic while living

          on your father’s farm, and do you believe

          in planets and stars somewhere beyond the clouds?

          You nod, and we stand under shadows of the tree,

          caught in the spell of a winter freeze.