Vox Populi
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Albert Garcia: Ice
In this California valley, ice on a puddle
is a novelty for children
who stand awkward in their jackets
waiting for the school bus.
They lift off thin slabs
to hold up in the early light
like pieces of stained glass.
They run around,
throw them at each other,
lick them, laughing as their pink tongues stick
to the cold, their breath fogging
the morning gray.
Between the Sierras
in the distance and a faint film
of clouds, the sun rises
red like the gills of a salmon.
From your porch, watching the kids,
you love this morning more
than any you remember. You hear
the bus rumbling down the road
like the future, hear the squealing
voices, feel your own blood warm
in your body as the kids sing
like winter herons, Ice, ice, ice.
Albert Garcia is the author of three books of poems, Rainshadow (Copper Beech Press), Skunk Talk (Bear Star Press), and A Meal Like That (Brick Road Poetry Press) as well as a textbook called Digging In: Literature for Developing Writers (Prentice Hall). His poems have appeared in journals such as Prairie Schooner, Willow Springs,Southern Poetry Review, and North American Review. He serves as the current President of Sacramento City College
“Ice” by Albert Garcia, from Skunk Talk (Bear Star Press, 2005). Reprinted with permission of author.
This poem appears in The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace and Renewal (Storey Publishing, 2023) edited by James Crews and is included here by arrangement with the editor.
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Great to see this poem get wider exposure!
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Thanks, Beth. I love this simple poem.
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Wonderful, Al! I particularly love the lines:
“From your porch, watching the kids,
you love this morning more
than any you remember.”
Such poignancy in that image!
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So direct and beautiful. I remember living in Corcoran before it was a prison.
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A note from the Pacific Northwest: I want to relocate!
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Yes, sweet and lovely.
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Thanks, Bob. Nice to see you in the comments section of VP!
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What a simple and lovely poem — a delightful kind of aubade…I can just “see” and “hear” it all so well. And remember it from James Crew’s anthology.
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Thanks, Laure-Anne. I too love the simple directness of this poem. A celebration of children in winter.
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