Sisters of Snow

By VeraClark
- 1000 reads
In cold spells
they collapse to the ground
only to resurrect themselves
once the temperature rises.
During conflict they were
used to de-ice tanks
but eat them and die.
It is the snow which owes
its colour to the snowdrop,
he says, when we tiptoe
past a thousand or more
dingle-dangling whitely
like 16th century earrings.
Pilfered indoors to look
pretty, he says, a fistful
of these will sour the milk
and eggs; at worst, they are
an omen of departure.
He kneels, then, to sever
the droopiest one
at her ankles, gifts her to me,
and when I breathe in
all that almond and honey
I hear a bevy
of witches choking.
She is so crystalline,
blue to the touch.
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Comments
:) So many images
as you move through personal and wider symbolism
Liked
L
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womb catchers. Those flowers.
womb catchers. Those flowers. Those sisters. your words.
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Well done on Pick of the Day,
Well done on Pick of the Day, Vera. Well-deserved.
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Brilliant, Vera. A fantastic
Brilliant, Vera. A fantastic poem. Snowdrops have some sort of magic, people get obsessed. And I agree, they are feminine. The last stanza is stunning.
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Wonderful. I agree that the
Wonderful. I agree that the last stanza is breathtaking.
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