Friday, July 23, 2010

Susan Briscoe: The Crow's Vow -- first two poems

“An icy mist…”

An icy mist,
no mountains this morning.

The world is a smaller circle.
Look closer:

ribbons of deer tracks
strung across the snow

and three brown apples
that never fell.

Your traps
all along the edges.


in the subtlest colours of winter:

faint pink of maple,
gold tinge of birch,

yet spruce almost black
against the whitest greys.

We wake to a field mouse,
soft brown fur and clean white belly.

I could skin the whole family,
stitch pretty mittens.

Ed. note:  This is supplementary material for this review in The Rover.   Briscoe's collection is comprised of ten-line poems that go untitled -- except in the table of contents, where they are indicated with first lines between quotations.

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