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WALKING IN WINTER
Walking in winter, breath
stinging, I pass
a small waterfall
emerging from under
the frozen lake-top,
flowing beneath the road
to cascade downhill
on the other side.
Icicles hang from rocks,
weeping, gleaming
in afternoon’s fading light.
For all my love of winter trees
stripped to reveal gritty twisting,
I hate the cold, the stiffness,
the way my eyes run
when exposed to wind.
If only authenticity didn’t require
so much dying.
Marie-Elizabeth Mali
Reprinted from The 2River View, 11.2 (Winter 2007), by permission
Walking in Winter