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Poetry | October 2005

Walking Backward

By Clarissa Jakobsons

    We walk along crumbling blacktop,
    the afternoon sun stabs my rugby tee.
    Three geese straddle center of Sunny Lake
    let go of everything
    as they walk on ice. In shadows,
    snowy floe cools my breath.

    Last Sunday, father and son slid the hill.
    Today, brown paints this slope.
    Birds know the first day of March,
    they chatter about wind.
    Winter news falls from sky
    spreading tree to tree.

    Blackened snow
    will turn luscious emerald.
    My daughter’s pace quickens,
    walking backward in front of me
    I follow, her garnet cheeks
    ablaze with sun.

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