snow still blankets the ground in Welches
where the Junebug slips on turquoise mittens
and her gray Bigfoot toboggan
to build the season's last snowman
Welches, where she is learning
to call the name of things with her own voice
learning with language
to scoop the material world
into canning jars
like fireflies from the mossy woods
remembering with an ice pick
to pierce the thin metallic lid
and make holes so the words can breathe:
sun, moon, water, snow, star
each word a sacrificial blade
which unavoidably amputates
some portion of the named thing's essence
insufficient as all words are
for the abundance they seek to reveal
but the only tool available
except that tiny delicate index finger
pointed toward a single falling flake
and her wide blue eyes
equipped from birth with silent awe
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Author Notes
Note:
This is a photo of my granddaughter, Willow June, who I have nicknamed Junebug. In the South we refer to winter caps like the one she is wearing as a â??toboggan.â??
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