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Squamish Storm
I stand in the dark
shake ice from my hair
and walk beneath the moon
to a neighbour's house for matches.
Snow up to the top of my thighs,
each gunshot footstep,
scatters owls
through the black silk night.
I hear the deer snapping fallen branches,
their faces emerge like burls from a pine wall.
The cold winds round me
and my laboured breath freezes on my face
Icicles hang from the trees,
their dim shadows impale the drifts.
Head bent low,
I butt against the frigid night
Each whip of wind,
each flake,
each patch of frozen ground,
is claimed by winter
and this bone-chilling Squamish storm.
Judith Neale was brought up on Vancouver Island and is a trained Mezzo-Soprano and poet.
She says, “My poems are like snapshots appearing on the page. They give a brief but intense look at love, sex, relationships,
nature and desire. I prefer to keep my poems short to better capture the moments and images that are
constantly filtering through my brain. With the belief that in brevity lies power, I like to start with
a larger version of a poem and whittle it down to its essential self.”
Email: Judith Neale
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