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WhistleAuthor(s): James GalvinSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Winter, 1985), p. 34Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20156124 .
Accessed: 17/06/2014 13:46
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Whistle-J?rn? Galvin
This morning I hoofed out. It was cold as two sticks.
There should be snow by now.
The ground has had enough. It's anvil-hard.
It won't be accepting any more death till spring.
Among patches of red earth abraded by wind
Weedstalks and grass stems and crystalline leaves
Wait to lower themselves back down.
I walked home without leaving tracks, like an angel.
Burnt-out, winterbare, this handbasket
Needs a covering of snow. There should be snow by now.
Earth revealed like this demands a dignity That was never in us. White veil, black veil,
The bride's, the widow's countenance,
The faces of the dead-by-violent-causes, It's bad to gaze upon them.
A lace of snow is needed here, permission
To forget. The creek below the spring whistles under its breath,
Just making believe.
34
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