Ice Skeletons by G. Louis Heath

The sky glowers over the trees till the

furies in the clouds spit a phlegm of

sleet onto the ash, elm, and chestnut,

stately denizens on our street. Our

summer bower of glorious, efflorescing

green soon glistens, hibernal clad,

bleak skeletons of ice. Once genial trees,

now limbs starkly glossy under glass skins,

shiver in the wind, nodding off under chill

blankets. A cannonade of breaking branches

crash onto sidewalks and pavement. Ice

wages war on our pristine, verdant tunnels.

These ice attacks freeze into thought, the

oblivion of me I am borne to. Growth and

decay are woven into my winter coat I wear

toward the door. I am sure I will fall on a

mirror of ice that wants to shatter my bones.

G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University. His books include Leaves Of Maple, Long Dark River Casino, and Redbird Prof: Poems Of A Normal U, 1969-1981. He has published poems in a wide array of journals, including Poppy Road Review, Third Wednesday, and Indiana Voice Review.