I Wonder

The ice on the roof sounds like thunder,
as it slowly begins to melt,
and I slowly begin to wonder,
if that ceiling of ice that had dwelt,
in chinks and pleats on top,
knows we can hear it when it breaks,
or if those crackles and sudden pops,
is in fact what made it come awake?
I think that if the shell of the life I have,
slowly begun to crack,
I wouldn't want the world to hear it snap into halves,
or listen to everything I lack,
and I even want to know,
if ice breaks in the same sound as the rest of the world,
or if it is only the roof of frozen snow,
that when underneath sounds like an avalanche is unfurled,
does the green grass underneath the unspoiled cover,
crackle and fissure as its ice tenderly breaks,
or do the awakening of dandelions and nests of plovers,
have the same humming schisms the earth can't seem to shake?
I want to press my ear down onto the numb earth,
and listen to see if it says anything when it cracks,
for when the ice fizzles and breaks, the earth rebirths,
and if I whisper into its gaps, I want to know if it will say anything back.

-anna sluder

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