Wild Violet Featured Works: Week of Jan. 13 (Winter)
This week, our contributors contemplate Winter, the time when nothing seems to move but our thoughts. Robert Rothman’s poem, “Jungle,” contrasts the body’s reaction to cold with the internal furnace we all carry. Andrew H. Oerke’s poem, “Winter Love Scene,” brings alive the ambivalence of love in wintertime. Chad V. Broughman’s flash-fiction piece, “Into the Light of Things,” takes a chillingly tender look at the aftermath of a winter car accident. Georgia Horesh’s print, “White Wolf, Red Cardinal,” shows the...
Read MoreThe Frozen Alster
Hamburg wraps itself around two lakes Formed by the river Alster. Once in a very rare winter they freeze solid Conjuring new space in the center of town. A sudden shortcut in the sunshine A huge white loop to skate or ski A nighttime fairground where you go to drink hot gluehwein Bought from lantern-lit booths suspended over water. To eat sweet powdered pastries and hear accordions play To watch the crowds of people laughing On a street that’s made of waves. It’s something to see but I never saw it Twenty years ago, at twenty-three. My bus stopped right around the corner at the...
Read MoreInto the Light of Things
Michael’s shiny Volvo slid across the ice and crashed into the grove… When he woke, Michael clambered from the wreckage, then floundered in the drifts — punching through with every step — … ‘til he reached the barren lane. Under the yellow of the stars, his breath plumed like an egret, and his boots crunched and squeaked. Blood spilled from his crown, hit the wintry air, and stiffened like black jelly. And Michael staggered on… He thought of his naughty Beagle pissing on the couch, and smirked. “Almost home, boy.” But the...
Read MoreWinter Love Scene
(for Dr. Zhivago) THE SNOW KEPT THE WORLD AWAY and she held me as gently as sand holds sand. We moved like shadows moving toward eclipse. This woman opened her long-silenced lips, and Noise that had built a fortress in my land was hushed away, and I was still as lapses of consciousness at the threshold of a nap. THE SNOW PROTECTED US Holding her was a tingling in my nerves. She knocked gently at my courthouse heart and penetrated even to the government. Holding her was the wilderness of wharves in winter when the sailors all report: I skipped my ship, now I’m the...
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