Ice Fire

In a corner of our garden

we built up a massive snowman,

stood back and marveled at our work:

the darkling eyes and ivory cheeks

and ears made out of orange skin,

 

a moon shaped mouth from crinoline,           

an apple that we chopped in half

became a nose onto his face

(we chomped the other piece with zest),

stood back and clocked the snowman’s gaze.

We looked at him, he looked at us

or else that seemed the way it was

 

but then a wind harassed and dark

engulfed the scene, enforced a wrap.

Inside, hot chocolate warmed our hands

but rain started pattering hard;

telling tall tales from arctic times

on windows, walls; battering rams

attacked a house, attacked our home.

 

Next day, we ventured to sense him;

of how he’d changed, withstood a life.

We hoped for fire, a wink, a spark

but slowly he had, through the dark,

stripped of himself; become his block of ice.