Chicken on the Frozen Genesee
Blurry pink splotches melt into blue and everything has a rounded edge.
Soft almost, if not for the hardness underfoot and the ripple of not-too-distant watery patches of black.
She seeks crossing, hopeful for solid footing, while he explains Chicken. She’s only played that with cars,
stepping toes curled into the path of the oncoming before pulling back.
Once pulled back not by her own volition.
Hands clamped and yanked made her a chicken.
Here the surface danger is slipping. The pair out there have enough skidding giddy steps
to forget the underneath danger. The river muzzled over. Cold. Not cold enough to keep
the edge intact long enough for anyone who might step too close
to grasp the ice-ground before it cracks.
And keeps cracking. Chicken. They step back.
Do you feel that? he asks, and jumps again.
What she stands on remembers it wants to flow. Tilt and return.
//2018 // acrylic on canvas // 35" x 40"//
//\\ // 2018 // acrylic on board // 28'' x 35'' // Lead or follow then fall into water/ Shiver drip squint tilt forward/ To catch a whisper or hear better/ the ocean's constant gentle shatter //\\ Forget to watch the watch tick tick/ Somersault on the surf and pick/ A shell of holes a chip of moon/ Night dawn another noon //\\ Wonder at the wonder of being here/ Speak of time and chance and fear/ Focus and answer with close vision/ of grains of sand, odd or even? //\\ Cartwheel on the edge of the sea/ Unhurried windmills turned/ By the brackish breeze