Sitting in the darkness waiting for something to burst
is what the man is doing
whose boiler cracked
the day before the ice storm hit
who turned off the heat
just for overnight, replacement
already on the way
who lit the fireplace
and settled in, a camping trip
in his living room
until the roads disappeared
in a snarl of frozen wires
and swerving cars
the new furnace useless
until the source of power
restored light to the hills
so he sent his wife and baby
to eat curry and relax
at my comfortable house
and now he huddles
blanket-wrapped like a pioneer
hoping the pipes don't freeze.
Dear editors: thanks for inviting me back aboard!
The name of this poem is the definition of the Inupiaq word qarrtsiluni, which is in turn the name of a literary journal I quite admire. (Full disclosure: I guest-edited an issue a while back.)
If you can't see the embedded audio player at the top of the post, but would like to hear the poem aloud, you can download burst.mp3.
Welcome back, Rachel. I love your title and explanation of its meaning.
-- DL
Posted by: DL | December 14, 2008 at 02:03 PM