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Blacker Pacific
Travel this glass canyon
on your back, on a sled
pulled by dogs blue with fear.
As long as the blankets
are thick, and the medicine
takes, you may arrive at base
without having lost it all.
Don’t tumble or drag
a finger through the snow.
Even the smallest arch
is a figure of strength, bending
its back to hold the load. That
scratch of the runners on glass can’t
come to seem musical, but with luck
it can be polished out
until what is reflected,
clear as a bell, is the journey
itself, the tale you’ll tell.
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Beth Baruch Joselow is the author of numerous books and chapbooks, including Excontemporary (Red Hen/ Story Line) and Begin at Once (Chax Press). Her poems have appeared in dozens of magazines and in several anthologies. Joselow has collaborated on artists’ books with visual artists in the U.S. and Ukraine. Born in Baltimore, Joselow spent most of her adult life in Washington DC, where for many years she was on the faculty of the Corcoran College of Art + Design. She now lives in Lewes, Delaware, and works as a psychotherapist. [For a recent interview, click here.]
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So chilling, and yet I love the image of the thick cozy blanket. And, by the way, I love Beth, and am so happy to be here among her many many friends!
Posted by: Penny Scheer | December 28, 2020 at 06:44 PM
I want to read and savor it over and over, Beth. Thanks for the ride!
Posted by: Jane Klein | December 29, 2020 at 07:19 AM
This poem speaks to these times, to all difficult times in our lives, with grace and grit. So much mystical parable packed into this short poem. Brilliant!
Posted by: Carmen Calatayud | December 30, 2020 at 05:35 AM
this Beth Joselow writes real poems. She's going places, mark my words.
Posted by: Bernard Welt | January 16, 2021 at 11:29 AM