To Eat Ice
A tree-frog found its home in our dog’s fur. Not
a log-cabin, geodesic dome or even
an A-frame. No, the architecture
of convenience was at work, and our
dog snored while the frog dug deeper
into Sakari’s dense double coat. I mulled
over hiding places, igloos built
from snow, summer huts,
support beams of birch poles. How
fast we love a thing—fasten it to our souls,
peel the birch to curl into small canoes;
eat the ice of our homes and strike forbidden fires;
flames fanning silhouettes on our hard
packed snow. When we got so
cold we thought ourselves hardwood, we mad-
dashed inside to the stove’s fire, where
we counted lives inside each spark that sent
its star across the dark.
Editor’s Note: This poem’s meandering narrative leads the reader to believe it will end up in one place, but then it travels to another, and one is left richer for the journey.
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