Poetry selection from the 2007 issue
by Anele Rubin
I like the way bare grey-brown tree trunks
come out of the snow-covered earth,
how still and quiet
the trees are
and how their shadows
lie on the snow.
I like that a few pigeons
pass through, fly low.
I like the emptiness, the quiet,
the cold, the lack
of bright color.
I like the white, the grey, the brown,
the way the squirrel runs through,
its tail following like a banner.
The feeling is solid, not passionate.
I like the cold reality, necessity,
the invulnerable silence.
Now a small flock of pigeons lands on the snow
and now they are gone again.
It is the snow and the trees
and the shadows of the trees on the snow
that I want to be like now.