WINTER WINDOW by CHRISTOPHER NELSON
mittens wet (stinging (singing))
snow man & snow
men. heads & bodies -- tunneled & rolled
from a good two -or- three inches - trails
freshly yarded, yards of white
fluff (for packing).
in the photo,
the head rolls off.
—Kristina Erny, poetry
A morning of sunlight on snow.
TUCSON SNOWMAN by ERIC MAGRANE
You knock icicles from the eaves
then wish you hadn’t. I put one
in my mouth. It tastes of asphalt
and summer. We will be young.
—Christopher Nelson, poetry
Tulsa Freeway rumblestrip
You watch the breath between us and the
Windshield, hunch and squint, we can
Defrost or accelerate, not both,
The heater smells like pancakes
—Emily DePrang, non-fiction
Even though I know the light bulb dimmed
the small fires of the imagination, that
central heating sucked the warmth out
from the hearth, extinguishing families,
and though I know the printed word did more
to erase stories from our collective unconscious
than all the universities combined,
I still enjoy reading a book, by myself,
in winter, in my underwear, at home
in the stone hut inside my heart.
—Neil Diamente, poetry
LET WINTER COME
As the temperature begins to shift slightly here in the desert, bringing a morning and evening crispness and the desire to cuddle under blankets and wrap toes in woolen socks, thoughts of winter and its more traditional imagery come to mind. In these short winter poems, submitted by MFA students in poetry, fiction, and nonfiction from the University of Arizona, images of ice-giants, scraped windshields, caribou hide, snowmen, and white trails through yards bring winter to life. Enjoy these poems this winter season over a cup of cocoa, wrapped round with mittens.
-Kristina Erny, Library Intern
: gentle Nor’wester slips
FEBRUARY, MT. LEMMON by JENNIE ZIEGLER
misted cleft across
but for the snow-crunch
steps darkness for a slip—
return to the ship covered in confetti
snowflakes, in gas-lamp—
glow of an ice-giant’s feast
lapsing over fjords.
-Meagan Lehr, poetry
Do they call July winter in Australia,
Finding Musk Ox
where the toilet water spins the other way?
Can winter come without snow,
without scraping windshields
and power lines breaking from the weight?
-Natalie Cunningham, nonfiction
Even the Inuit guide—sixty-five years old—
CLIMBING IN THE TETONS by JAREN WATSON
SNOW ON SAGUARO by ERIC MAGRANE
Said we should get inside.
Sixty-five degrees below—wearing caribou hide—
Is adequate cold.
—Jaren Watson, fiction