Winter-Strike Poem by Gloria Kim

Winter gray the light of day,
winter-gray snow-melt still on the ground
drawn the winter, long the week,
Monday-gray through Saturday.

Saturday night a freezing rain
left a Sunday washed anew
in snow pock-crusted lacy frosted
gleaming bright in the winter crisp.

Chatter-clatter clickety-tackety / hey, what is that sound?
Spin around with a cocking ear / hey, where is that sound?

Look up, look up to the highest trees!
Diamond-fierce the topmost branches
sheathed in ice — slicing in the wind — twigs all
sparkling rattling swaying shining pierce my heart.

I was eight and we were late to church
that Sunday, day of days
that first and best of all days since —
when tree ice beauty blew me sacred joy.