White Out
by Laurie Joan Aron


Again, the way is gone, all buoys lost.
In drifting snow, a clean slate from which
Longitude and latitude have been erased,

We stand at the precipice watching
The explorers scoop tracks with their toboggans,
Putting their human imprint on indifferent nature.

Soon, the children come shouting, scraping cars
For snowball fights, revealing glinting burgundy
And blue among the white barrows.

An art student has carved a woman's torso,
With hand-molded breasts,
Slightly twisted at the waist, as if to regard

The efforts of chilled Caribbean nannies to
Fashion snow people for their charges
Using stick arms and lost hats.






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