Ice scraping

 

The car now sleeps, its morning slumber too cold

Surely to ever move. Its skin, still as

The epidermis of some ancient creature,

Forgotten in ice and darkness. Have you ever

Wondered how Arctic explorers must have feared

The sleeping death of cold, to wake and find

They kept no breath? Frost as thick as a thumb,

As hard as nails: an inch of tooth-white ice.

It bites the skin: it stings like lack of love.

 

And when you next scrape off that layer of white,

Imagine clawing out of their ice-house

As desperate as the wind, alone as night.

 

 

A structurally simple poem: but, when you are next helplessly revving your car, waiting for the moment it warms back to life, imagine the frost-cemented tents of those discovering their wildernesses. Peer through the half-opaque whiteness, watch your breath cloud and near-crystallise. Imagine clawing your way out into the howling wind. 

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5 thoughts on “Ice scraping

  1. Bravo James! I often have these thoughts and love having them so well epressed. Gran

    Sent from my iPad

    >

  2. Bingo. I have been scouring WordPress for an hour looking for a talented sort to ask if I can re-produce one of their poems on my new poetry e-zine. There are several of yours that I like but this one is really super. Can I publish it please? I’m over at Algebraofowls.com

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