poetry
thin ice season
by Kathy Fisher
a duck flew over open water yesterday a huge raven circled the North Road field crows go south in winter but ravens stay the big black bird lands plants its shadow solid between mound round drifts buried rows of sheared corn stubble scores a black hole into powder white snow
i knew the lake would freeze last night the bay was a black grin steaming its final heat into the night sky
you could hear the water heave seize and split in otherworldly exclamations
don't go out without a long stick my father warns wear a hook fastened to your wrist like Vermont fishermen that way you can pull yourself out
my dog runs out onto the freshly frozen water of Sargent's Bay i yell after him to come back to shore he ignores me hot on the scent of a wild animal
the ice holds him barely holds my heart clutched in its mitt of winter fear if he falls through he won't last long my father slurs cold comfort
it is a thin ice season we tread carefully at the lake's edge unsure of our footing a sliver of solid cold between us a numb death
my father confused from his stroke loses days finds himself here on the windblown grey slate shoreline
he calls after my dog strikes out over water tapping his hook end stick each step a black hole on the lightly dusted hard skinned lake