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(1932 - / New York / United States)

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Wind Chill

The door of winter
is frozen shut,

and like the bodies
of long extinct animals, cars

lie abandoned wherever
the cold road has taken them.

How ceremonious snow is,
with what quiet severity

it turns even death to a formal
arrangement.

Alone at my window, I listen
to the wind,

to the small leaves clicking
in their coffins of ice.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003


Read poems about / on: winter, snow, wind, alone, death, animal, car

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Comments about this poem (Something About The Trees by Linda Pastan )

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  • Val Morehouse (8/2/2009 7:05:00 PM)

    Linda,

    After I left Cape Cod, I moved to North Dakota...what an education! I hope you will look at 'Getting Religion', which deals with exactly the same topic...but as younger folks say it is X-treme.

    Val

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  • Gina Onyemaechi (2/17/2006 1:35:00 PM)

    The 'extinct animals' image is a real sticker, Lind. I'm right with you at your window looking out on this chilling picture of white. As an antidote though, I'd like to recommend you 'Ballet of White' by Graham Jones and 'A Heart Is Surely Bound' by Ernestine Northover. Tell me if they don't melt you, Lind. Warmly, Gina.

  • Linda Preston (3/7/2005 1:16:00 PM)

    Like opening lines. Interesting!

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