Susan Wicks will take you on a strange journey - not just through the landscapes of England and New England, but through the landscape of the mind. It is a disturbing but rewarding journey, revealing some dark corners of the soul.
How when it was little and it snowed
he'd pretend to be angry - he'd say
"Curse the weather!" - turning aside
to look at me slyly. Now I can see
him standing at my window looking out
at the white path, the white garden
tapering to a point, the white-iced slats
of the fence, the snow-bank leading
to the railway, while at his elbow I
collapse with laughter.
If we could still exist
it would be in that whirling sky
where he raises his fist
to the glass, letting the curses fly
like snowflakes, and I squeal with joy.
MacDowell Winter 13