SNOW DAYS UP NORTH

By Raymond Luczak

 

Image description: In this mostly monochromatic wide shot, a cluster of trees enmeshed together as if in a dense chorus line from a distance are laced with snow under a white-gray sky. The whiteness of treetops almost blend into the sky itself.

Image description: In this mostly monochromatic wide shot, a cluster of trees enmeshed together as if in a dense chorus line from a distance are laced with snow under a white-gray sky. The whiteness of treetops almost blend into the sky itself.

Pulled up into long johns, zipped into

snowmobiler’s pants, ski cap pulled tight

down to my eyebrows, layered mittens strung

like telephone wires inside my jacket, I was

ready to do battle in the great wilderness

across the street. Soldier trees huddled,

stamping their feet. Rabbit pellets dotted 

and disappeared. Shades of white

and gray mingled, its cold kisses 

a shudder against skin in sagged socks

when clumps slipped into my boots.

A tree branch then clacked its rifle

right at my tiny sliver of nakedness

hidden in my pulled-up collar.

A bullet of ice had hit its target.

It took minutes to pull off my four mittens

only to find I couldn’t reach behind my neck.

My bulletproof armor was too thick.

Its chill, melting, slithered and itched my back.

The winds jounced between my legs,

machine-gunning snow up into my eyes.

I was shot down. Dead, I raised my hands

to the clouds and fell forward into the puff

of icy feathers. I rubbed my face in its pillow

until a blanket of warmth overtook me.

Dying was so wonderful on days like these.

 


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Raymond Luczak is the author and editor of 25 titles, including Compassion, Michigan: The Ironwood Stories (Modern History Press) and once upon a twin: poems (Gallaudet University Press). He lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

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