A Thousand Feet of Ice - March 17 2023

 

A Thousand Feet of Ice

March 17 2023

Knee high

and still coming down.

This is how it begins

as everything must;

the first step

on a thousand mile journey,

the steady drip

that wears away rock.

How snow-stayed

becomes a glacier,

then a new ice age.

Which is how the parting

also began;

the infatuation turning stale,

and second thoughts

starting to niggle away.

But how beautiful, early on.

The world's imperfections

concealed

under a thick blanket of snow,

sculpted

by a brisk north wind

into fabulous pieces of art.

Just as that first chilly gust

was innocent enough.

An off-hand comment

you overheard,

a look

you took the wrong way.

That annoying habit

you couldn't stand,

but despite all that

kept holding your tongue.

Which is how, if you let them, things build up,

storm after storm

until there's a mountain of airless snow.

The old world

you knew and loved

under a thousand feet of ice,

and you're in the dark

in deathly quiet

feeling cold and crushed.

You saw it coming

that time you were snow-stayed

that didn't feel right.

The two of you stranded

in this small space

with nothing left to say.

When it turned dark

in the middle of the day,

the windows almost covered

with the white stuff piling up.

And where all you could hear

were mournful groans

and creaking sounds

that came from overhead,

the joists

protesting loudly

as snow fell and fell.

Because things give a little

before they collapse;

popped nails,

stressed supports,

an imperceptible sag.

The critical cracks,

extending invisibly

until the roof fails

and you're buried alive.