[If viewing on a cell phone, please rotate your phone to landscape mode to see the poem as formatted.]
it takes ten weeks to plow
the Going-to-the-Sun Road
the “Big Drift” can be 100 feet deep deep silence in my head
rife with the possibility of a “quiet slide” sound of one snowflake
the snow is burdened with rocks icicles sear holes
from slides down 1000-foot cliffs in my heart’s stone
plow crews drive with spikes unspoken words etched
and chains on their wheels by frozen branches
over the narrow road burn red on winter skin
as sections are cleared cardinals streak to the fir tree
they are opened to cyclists kinnikinnick berries splash hope
and hikers first on a wall of unnamed feelings
after the steady crescendo of work cadence of life quickens
and speculation that started in April your voice emerges
the road finally opens in June from dense counterpoint
and guardrails are reinstalled of subtle lies and undisclosed truths
kinnikinnick flowers sing
an avalanche of wishes
cascades down the rocks
I string red berries on a necklace
to keep from going over the edge
Meg Freer grew up in Montana and lives in Kingston, Ontario. She has worked as an editor and also teaches piano. She enjoys taking photos and being active outdoors year-round. Her photos, poetry and prose have been published in various anthologies and journals such as Eastern Iowa Review, Poetry South, Sequestrum and Ruminate.
Featured image by Meg Freer.
