News from the Edge of the World by Bonnie Proudfoot

News From the Edge of the World

Winter again, and drops of ice
crystallizing on barren branches,
no sun for days, the light lingers indigo,
snow squalls that flurry and quit

crystallizing on barren branches,
these emphatic pointers to time's passage
snow squalls that flurry and quit -
How do I know where I am?

These emphatic pointers to time's passage
moments in a life, increments and indictments -
how do I know where I am?
I live at the edge of the world.

Moments in a life, increments and indictments,
dogs drag bones down from the woods,
I live at the edge of the world;
the yard is littered with shards.

Dogs drag bones down from the woods,
frozen scaffolding, parts without meaning.
The yard is littered with shards:
the thigh, the shin, the scapula,

frozen scaffolding, parts without meaning.
Which is more real, memory or invention?
the thigh, the shin, the scapula,
I claim it; it is all me.

Which is more real, memory or invention?
Winter again, and drops of ice. . .
I claim it; it is all me -
crystallizing on barren branches,
no sun for days, the light lingers indigo.

***

by Bonnie Proudfoot

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