How Soon BY GORDON HENRY JR. The story goes from in a rainfall to sister walking a field browned autumn. And when she arrives winter has come, so the old man rises from his chair, picks up matches, pipes and tools, and walks out to begin again. The sculptures grow by the day, birds in ice, recognizable eagles, a bear who began as a man in a moment of dance. He does this in ice, all winter carving at dawn, carving at dusk. And sister after walking a field browned autumn, arrives, watches from the east window, waits, goes out to him [...]

Three Deer in Oquossoc BY SONJA JOHANSON East will take me back. I drive west. I wend between snowbanks, until the road delivers me to a sleeping boat launch. They stand on the frozen ramp; watch me with coats that are better than mine. Ice houses and snowmobiles edge the distance. I have to turn around, I say to them, I went the wrong way. They stamp and chuff. No, they tell me, this is the way.

Aquarium, February BY LIZ AHL When ice outside makes daggers of the grass, I come to where the tides of life still flow. The water here still moves behind the glass. In here, the seasons never seem to pass— the sullen shark and rays still come and go. Outside the ice makes daggers of the grass and coats the roads. The meditative bass won't puzzle how the blustery blizzards blow. The water here still moves. Behind the glass, rose-tinted corals house a teeming mass of busy neon creatures who don't know "outside." The ice makes daggers of the grass and oily puddles [...]

February & my love is in another state BY JOSÉ OLIVAREZ so when i walk down the street, i hold hands with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing up ahead & a sky so honey, i could almost taste it. a cat struts away from me & two yellow eyes become four: just like that, i’m the loneliest creature on this block. soon the streetlights will come alive & television sets will light up with blues. stay with me. while the sky is still golden, hold the ladder so i can climb, & from the highest rung, i can scrape away a [...]

The Snow Arrives After Long Silence BY NANCY WILLARD The snow arrives after long silence from its high home where nothing leaves tracks or strains or keeps time. The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal, bears up like sheep before shearing. The cat at my window watches amazed. So many feathers and no bird! All day the snow sets its table with clean linen, putting its house in order. The hungry deer walk on the risen loaves of snow. You can follow the broken hearts their hooves punch in its crust. Night after night the big plows rumble and bale it [...]