Within Suburbia Poem by MARINA GIPPS

By winter.
Playing in the solid, white fluff,
outside the warmth of accustomed
glances. A sleigh ride.
Snow stiffening, collecting at the blades
of age six. Infernos cutting ice,
I cannot count.

The road, blaring Beatles
and frigid Mother Hubbard blazing
anger in a '68 wagon with a cage
compartment for kids.

Sun almost knocked on those foggy windows.
Rays approached our wagon at a five foot
distance; like wisemen in anonymous
photographs, they wrinkled,
then ran away.