The Sound of Barely Frozen| Kathi Funari

Our first Christmas after you’re gone
it warms to 50 degrees.
We strap on boots, head to the reservoir
to an outcropping of rocks
where we have the lake and the geese
to ourselves.

It’s been cold enough for hard freeze.
On the ice pack
the geese have made a new neighborhood.
But the sudden thaw has softened
and opened the water around the edges.

Adam does what all boys do,
collects rocks in a pile
then lobs his shale grenades
at the surface below.
Some bounce and slide,
break open and scatter,
(the geese scold and move further out).
But some break through with a satisfying plonk!
He goes off in search of larger ammunition.

Back,
he struggles to launch a sizeable mortar
from the bomb bay doors of his arms.
It explodes through an inch of ice
leaves a garish hole through all that smoothness.
In the silence after the splash
an ethereal crackling muffles up
to where we’re standing.

Listen! I say,
You can hear the waves.

We lay on our backs in the sunshine
close our eyes.
I toss a rock, blindly, onto the lake
and we listen,
heads cocked toward the shore,
to the sound of echoes
rippling through frozen water.
The sound of something still trying to breathe
in the grip of winter
and the coldness of death.

Kathy Funari