To drink boiled snow
To drink boiled snow is good science.
It may affect the water table
to manufacture boiled snow on the rocks
218º Fahrenheit for however many minutes.
To skate on black ice is hard science
looking down through it to a broken and frozen rowboat
six feet under in Davy Jones’s Locker
in black tie in the middle of the night,
walking on thin ice, to skate on the
leading edge of thin ice, as abraded maple
leaves’ patterns trip you up. To drink
unboiled sap as the deer do, clandestinely
out of sap buckets, starting on Birthington’s Washday;
to discover in frozen sap
a distinctive new gelato! Flavor
of the Month for March! To write
most of a poem out of
infinitive clauses, to discover
in brackish tidepools much too early
harbor seals in camouflage on the rocks,
and to marvel at these seals’ poise and grace
as they blunder diffidently into and under the ocean.
Caroline Knox's eighth book, Flemish, will appear in April from Wave Books (www.wavepoetry.com). Her work is included in Postmodern American Poetry: A Norton Anthology, Second Edition (ed. Paul Hoover), New York, 2013.