Poem a Day 2026

we were talking about ice, how long the people made do without it. i was finally reading the famous chapter of the famous book where ice is novelty treasure the village comes to see
they think it is a diamond, or boiling
scalding is the closest feeling

ice cutting festival in the adirondacks. ice castles in minnesota. trapping heat
inside the burn

in the public bathroom a poster says to call homeland security if you find are being controlled. a shadow of a man looming grey into a grey room where a grey girl sits crumpled

ice forms stunning spears from the roof where good smoke plumes, melts into a pool, hardens back over. the agent slips on it, the people repost, more traps from
more pools 

we were talking about ICE when we saw the cops with faces in the alley. the one i spoke to seemed like he was crying, but maybe just dead depressed or tired from 
his screen

to the east and to the west the neighborhood blocks eventually touch water.
i want to smell truth like someone cooking in a house i am outside,
like freezer burn before the door is opened. i follow the scent inside, want not
to have a reason to, just hunger's closest
feeling

muslin curtains leaking warmth. little sketches of horizons stacked as drafts,
or tucked in lacy nets like asian pears towered in a crate outside the diorama
winter village shop laid split across the sidewalk.
I drive by and wonder if anyone will put it back together. 
maybe wood glue, with clamps 

one could build a moat, a snow cave, a bassinet.
one could hoard nightwear, like I do.
pilling flannel lily of the valley. big snoopy t-shirt that says score

the wood chip child wants to know which is better: with or apart.
separate safe, or what the teacher said,
that someone else’s problem
is your own

i want the truth to smell like rotting flowers ready to return.
to trace itself an arrow  losing its tail along the way
lands the pressure point of worry lines slack
between telephone poles. window to window.
squint across. you might not need to furrow 
to see