In the Shadow of Mount Cook Sir Edmund Hillary’s Great-Granddaughter Succumbs to Fever, by Brent Terry
In the Shadow of Mount Cook Sir Edmund Hillary’s
Great-Granddaughter Succumbs to Fever
On an evening before winter waves goodbye
forever and deserts devour the last
screaming of trees, a stray sunbeam
sneaks through a tangle of pines, goofs
the shatter-angle, wreaks prism
from join and summons the blue
ice angels to rise. The quiescent chorus
sings a unison, a requiem, a whisper, almost,
of tiny bells. Frozen wavelets break
their own backs and the beach blanket
of snow snuggles last fall’s mudded shoe tracks
striving some lost summit, where the moon
on the glacier howls a memory of wolves.
Brent Terry is an award-winning writer and a runner who teaches at Eastern Connecticut State University. He is judging our Lucky 7 Marathon for the poetry entries. He won the Connecticut Poetry Prize and was nominated for the PEN Faulkner Award for fiction. He is the author of The Body Electric, Troubadour Logic, and 21st Century Autoimmune Blues, among others. He is an accomplished Spoken Word artist. He loves Dr. Pepper.
9/5/2022 04:56:02 am
Wonderful poem, Brent Terry. I especially love "where the moon on the glacier howls a memory of wolves."
9/5/2022 08:44:56 am
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