Now in the spirit of that which is not my spirit I call the snow. To build up a new landscape, old on top of old. The contours show levels in sediment at each melted touch. Light disguises one mountain under another. Frozen air falls in small, bright pieces on the dark and mossy deck. We watch what falls, not what lands. By the time we awakened, it had been here for a long while, History is silent and has already arrived.
Merridawn Duckler is a writer from Oregon, author of INTERSTATE (dancing girl press) and IDIOM (Washburn Prize, Harbor Review.) New work in Seneca Review, Women’s Review of Books, Interim, Posit. Fellowships/awards: Yaddo, Southampton Poetry Conference, Poets on the Coast. She’s an editor at Narrative and at the philosophy journal Evental Aesthetics.
Guest Editor Katelyn Roth graduated from Pittsburg State University with her Master’s in poetry. Her work has previously appeared online at Silver Birch Press and at Heartland: Poems of Love, Resistance, and Solidarity. Currently, she lives, works, and writes in Kansas City.