Today there is ice fog on the river
and the echo of ravens quorking overhead.

I cannot see them but I know they are tumbling together
and apart on the updrafts, playing kings and queens

of this scrub-brush park while the trees stand solitary
watch, leaning into the burn and buckle

of winter gusts rolling across Alberta prairie.
Just now, the cold is tucking itself

heavily into the corners of the prairie.
I can hear the highway’s hum in the near distance.

I want to press my face against
the cold bark faces of these nameless trees,

to inhale and exhale the song of resin and wood,
to be alone with the deep alone.


Carolyn Stice has a particular interest in the work of female poets, especially that which deals with the landscape of the body. She is also working on a project translating the work of women poets of Venezuela.

Her work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Cutthroat, The Clark Street Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, China Grove, Antipodes, and Permafrost. It is also included in a new anthology titled Desnudas en el desierto, which highlights the work of women from the US/Mexico border.




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