Little Boy Kissing the Snowman
I found a photo of you yesterday, you and a snowman
of companionable size, a snowman round and dandy:
blackberry eyes to give the twinkle, orange gumdrop set
to make a nose, and chocolate licorice in one long strand
shaped into a smile, broad, uncomplicated.
In this picture your round cheek is gently pressed against
the clean field of the snowman’s temporary whiteness,
lips pursed, small and devout.
It might have been a January day, the snow looked newly fallen.
Everywhere was white. No sky, no ground in this old photo.
Just you, a winter’s afternoon unbroken, and a man made simply
out of snow.
Helen Bournas-Ney was born in the island of Ikaria, Greece, and grew up in NYC. She wrote poetry years ago, and completed a study of the Greek poet Seferis and Rimbaud. She then spent time raising a family and running a Learning Center. Recently (and happily!) she has returned to writing poetry again. She loves ekphrastic poetry, mythological themes, and lately, exploring prose poetry. Her work has been published in The Ekphrastic Review, Plume Poetry, Ergon, One Sentence Poems, Mer Vox, and the anthology Plume Poetry 7. Her poetry was nominated for Best of the Net 2021.
The Ekphrastic Review
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