from a winter window

remnants of Eden©papa osmubal

remnants of Eden©papa osmubal

 

from a winter window*
brian vanderlip

A tangle of twig fingers
just outside the window,
a child’s cut-out neighbourhood,
scissors never quite steady,
crayon colours overlapping.
Every which-way from here
frail fences weave,
two-sided, drunken,
carving darkness,
dividing the spoils of
two thousand years,
these remnants of Eden,
these hollow lawns with hedges.

Last night the snow fell again,
first the light gauze
then thick white,
bandaging, padding, healing.
Today when I looked out
from this dark room
there were children
breaking trails
in white cathedrals.


*from What Happens to Memory, The Netherlandic Press, Canada, 1989

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