Boston Review
CURRENT ISSUE
table of contents
FEATURES
new democracy forum
new fiction forum
poetry
fiction
film
archives
ABOUT US
masthead
mission
rave reviews
contests
writers’ guidelines
internships
advertising
SERVICES
bookstore locator
literary links
subscribe

 

Search this site or the web Powered by FreeFind


Site Web



 

* * * *

The snow was the future perfect of snow.

The old assumption that it falls to ground

to hear yet again the story of oil

was a lie December suspended.

The snow was the perfect future of snow

and there were women that were not in it,

that didn't walk through its clinic of minutes

appalling its fall with cries and kerosene.

The future of snow was the perfect snow

abashing the men conceiving it shapeless

because it betrayed no women or lamps.

It was rather very shapeless and it

was also almost shapeless, orphaning

the course of river x til March returns.

It will be said of that river it was

almost very shapeless, save the women

often in it, and that it was alone

in winter, save the men upon it then.

It will have been seen to have been slowly

a flowing forward back to frozenness.

Something like how May comes on

from the invisible to divide flowers---,

as a bunch of free men and women slightly drunk

from humming standards they have never heard,

humming standards in a blind white prison

or on a bland white band of water.

The snow ___ ___ _____ ______ __ snow.

A flowing forward back to frozenness

as I will have been, seized from voice like ice

--Geoffrey G. O'Brien

Originally published in the February/March 1999 issue of Boston Review

 



Copyright Boston Review, 1993–2005. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission.

 | home | new democracy forum | fiction, film, poetry | archives | masthead | subscribe |