Ice Eggs


by Laurinda Lind

It is July and there is ice in the trees.

Not just from ash in the atmosphere

choking off the sun and not a whitely

nuclear winter, but huge hail that crashed

down through branches and where it

hasn’t broken them, illuminates as if

 

the wait is over so soon and the wrong

solstice has come with its balls and bells.

Inside each hard globe the long light

picks out a watching as of eyes,

a lying-in as if the limbs of embryos

lace themselves gracefully together

 

inside each cold shell, knowing full

well how soon in this season even

the most frozen of wombs will have

to set them free in the world as water

so they can run down, down to their

true deep home in the ground.

 

 

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Writers Bio

Laurinda Lind teaches and writes in the U.S. in New York State's North Country. This year she won the Keats-Shelley prize in adult poetry. Some acceptances/ publications have been in AERODROME, Amsterdam Quarterly, Anima, Antiphon, Antithesis Journal, Bindweed, Crannóg, Deep Water Literary Journal, Here Comes Everyone, moongarlic, Shooter, Soliloquies, Sonic Boom, Uneven Floor.

 


Inspirational ImageEncapsulated by Erean by Erean

Pieces Inspired by this Image

'Glinda brings a Surprise'
by Harmony Hodges

'Encapsulated'
by Nancy Jorgensen

'the spider's sacks'
by Barry Yeoman


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