In This Endless Whiteness
by Mary Moore Easter
In this endless whiteness,
this five-month January of
multi-formed ice:
flat, opaque
solid and shiny
or
in particles so small and blown
they infuse the air looking like
tangible fog
and quiet--
In this endless whiteness,
sea of faces pale,
drifted with pale hair
subdued, conserving--
Come three sisters,
Plumage shouting
Like tropical birds
Hair shorn
Bodies bursting.
Unexpected exotica
Transplanted from some technicolor
Zone.
No need to yell
“Give it out, sisters!”
They will anyway.
in The Butterfly Tree: An Anthology of Black Writing from the Upper Midwest, Conrad Balfour, editor, New Rivers Press, 1985
this five-month January of
multi-formed ice:
flat, opaque
solid and shiny
or
in particles so small and blown
they infuse the air looking like
tangible fog
and quiet--
In this endless whiteness,
sea of faces pale,
drifted with pale hair
subdued, conserving--
Come three sisters,
Plumage shouting
Like tropical birds
Hair shorn
Bodies bursting.
Unexpected exotica
Transplanted from some technicolor
Zone.
No need to yell
“Give it out, sisters!”
They will anyway.
in The Butterfly Tree: An Anthology of Black Writing from the Upper Midwest, Conrad Balfour, editor, New Rivers Press, 1985