By Judith Minty
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Additional resources for Dancing the fault: poems
Saratoga Springs, New York Page 70 Flying from Boston to Portland on Christmas Eve Somewhere, just past Minneapolis, day quit in fading roses. Now, in the dark, little Christmas towns glint like constellations on the prairie. They don't know how afraid we are of falling, of exploding, of sailing on forever. They don't know how we long to dream our tinsel childhood. We are so close up here, our fingertips nearly touching, strangers encased in metal and plastic. The man next to me is a timber broker, he sells trees to Japan.
We are all surfacing from dream, shaking our heads, as drops fall from the eaves in no particular pattern. 11/15 At last, a bird at the suet cake. Welcome sparrow, lord of my balcony, strutting this railing, sunflower seed in your beak. Page 53 1/16 Third day of the blizzard. Locked up in these rooms, pacing and calling for friends, I end at the window again. Once, somewhere, was land, the before of this white sea below. I stand watch over an ocean of snow, over waves that swirl or rise in peaks.
I was reading near the stove, trying to keep warm, trying to ignore some mice building a nest on the shelf. Maybe he was watching all week, maybe he just found my lightI don't know. At first I thought his bawling and crying were embers in the stove, then a cow, but those Michigan woods were never farmland. I turned down the lamp and ran to the window and saw only my own reflection in the light from the fire. IV Just weeks ago, I sat on the bank of the Smith River, up near the Oregon border. I was mourning snow then, dreaming white hills and wishing cold wind in the face.
Dancing the fault: poems by Judith Minty