What I know is sand, or at least dust;
microfilaments, metal and plastic
and leftovers from the creation filter
through windows even on days
the sun is a temporary suspension
of disbelief. Yesterday and overnight
a shallow ocean of snow had fallen.
We had, at least, embers left over
from New Year’s to shine us through.
The wild turkeys migrating yard to yard
look comatose from a distance.
It’s not the deepest snow, but it ranks.
The branches are two-tone, like orcas.
And we are closest to the sun on this round.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 5.
John Minczeski is the author of five collections and several chapbooks. He has edited several anthologies, including a recent collection of Polish-American authors (with John Guzlowski), recently published in Poland. His publications include Atticus Review, Chattahoochie, Tampa Review, Harvard Review, The New Yorker, St. Paul Almanac, and others. He lives in the Twin Cities.
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