Breaking News
Feb 22 2010


I mark time
by the week, the season.
The long pause
where nothing changes.
The sudden ferocious shifts.

Warm days, cold nights
make for an even thaw.
The frozen surface
invisibly thinning
until cracks appear
the shoreline softens
a cold black inch
of open water.
An early break-up, this year.

Fresh snow, overnight,
so at dawn
the lake is unbroken white.
Tracks, where the deer tried to cross
end sharply
in the grey soggy spot
that mars the surface
20 feet out.
There is no sign of struggle,
no residue of adrenaline, or fear
— of thin legs, thrashing,
narrow head
gasping for breath.

When I watched her graze
her lips were as articulate as hands —
prehensile, grasping
nibbling on lower branches,
soft and strong.
And her body
steaming, standing
coiled for flight.
She vanished
in a blur of tawny brown
a swirl of snow.

I may never know
if she drowned,
or clawed her way clear.
Or perhaps, when it finally breaks
I’ll catch a glimpse
of a bloated body
in the jig-saw jumble of ice,
a freshening wind
pushing it away.
Breaking news
a few weeks late.




This poem started with the phrase that book-ends it; but not until a long and circuitous round-about.

I originally thought I might use “breaking news” to contrast the impersonal and distant events that feature in news reports with something small, private, and personal. My intent was to manipulate the connotation of “breaking”: to get at an intimate relationship and a small event, and the fragility of one person’s interior world in response to it. But I couldn’t see any way into this, and so it was quickly abandoned.

Meanwhile, the idea of “breaking” had elicited an image of spring break-up (probably because it’s happening so early and so unobtrusively this year), and I completely abandoned the news angle: a very natural progression for me, since the lyric poem based on an observation of nature seems to be my default poem, the path of least resistance! So I’m surprised and gratified that the original idea somehow managed to come back into it.

In this case, though, it’s more of a jaundiced comment on the perception of time, and on the urgency with which one chooses to live: on the “scoop” mentality of modern journalism; on the 24 hour news cycle, the instant obsolescence of news, and how quickly we forget; and on the lack of context and perspective with which the news of the day is most often presented. In other words, what’s real and important, as opposed to what’s evanescent and self-important. So when the ending turned out that way, I went back and added the opening stanza to make it make sense, tie it together.

I rather like this guy, who stands still and watches a deer browse; who takes note of the small details; who doesn’t mind taking weeks and weeks as the spring thaw slowly unfolds; and who is patient enough to wait for the fullness of time.