For all the Sons of Ice

with frozen icicle hands,/ and see-through eyes, a parent/ transparent as crisp blue sky,

For all the Sons of Ice


Father was crystal,
clear glass and cold,
colorless,
aglaze,
with frozen icicle hands,
and see-through eyes, a parent
transparent as crisp blue sky,
full of laughter
and joy.

He hid everything else.

Froze it,
shoved it
to the back of a shelf,
buried deep
in an icebox,
where he
kept it
along with his heart.

It beat only for you.

And yet, perhaps,

it beat for the rest of us too.
Clear beats,
s l o w b e a t s,
each drip of his glacier
thawing us through.

© 2007 Kåre Enga [164.414] 2007-12-08