by Lisa Higgs
Along the edges of snowmelt, a thin skin
of what is not ice, of what is not snow,
but some rare weave of form passing its twin
in selfsame geneses. Strand of marrow,
waiting its tide. Pull of light a discipline
of distillation, when what is not narrows
to what is. Remnant winter set to begin
its end as trim and frill, lustrous mellow
thaw unspooling. One hundred years for you
is enough time and not enough to see
beauty outside its frames and name this life
yours to love, and name this spring death’s debut,
and name after uncertainty or beauty
outside its frames, this life of yours I love.
Lisa Higgs’ second chapbook, “Unintentional Guide to the Big City,” was published by Red Bird Chapbooks in April 2015. Her poems can be found in numerous literary journals – including Phoebe, Crab Orchard Review, Water~Stone Review and PMS: poemmemoirstory – and have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and two Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards. Currently, Lisa serves as a Poetry Editor for Quiddity International Literary Journal.