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  • Forgetful Snow

     

     

    Melting glaciers in northern Italy reveal corpses of WW1 soldiers.

                                                                                  —The Telegraph

     

    Global warming ice

    pick chisels away Alpine

    glaciers, revealing two skinless

     

    corpses hugging with interlocked

    ribcages shattered by shrapnel

     

    storm. Tracers unzipped

    blizzards while shivering

    men smoked

    tobacco, laughing at how perfect

    the slopes were for skiing. Sleds

     

    slid up the mountain with fresh brass

    explosions, passing blanket covered

    soldiers who gazed

    up at the sky with glazed

     

    eyes, watching open grass

    oceans zip by underneath the

    clatter of rail

    tracks. Those were the lucky

    ones;

     

    the rest of the restless

    dead felt their warmth

    rush out of every

    pore, pouring out

     

    onto the melting

    snow as incoming

    rounds built igloo

    tombs around

    gunpowder bones.

     

     

     

    ***

     

    Like We Have Never Heard The Rain

     

     

    At 6:24 am, Rancho, Mission,

    Aliso, and other sleepy

    partitions of Orange

    County rolled over wide

     

    eyed as the sky

    clapped and cracked, sending a wakeup

    call to the slumbering

     

    beasts of the soon to be packed

    streets. For once, the vastness of

    suburbia felt as small as Gopher

    Plain, Nebraska; strangers who lived across

     

    town from each other would say, “I couldn’t

    fall back asleep after the first

    explosion.” Our local Facebook streams

     

    gorged themselves with animals

    whimpering at the weepy

    sky and the sudden

    need for coffee to offset the last

     

    hour of sleep stolen by the sudden

    rush of swollen rain

    drops that hammered the desert

     

    earth. The deep grey-blue

    clouds ate the heads of the Saddlebacks. Floating

    lakes of cerulean

     

    came and went as the sky

    tide pulled the storm’s body

    East, leaving a paint brush

     

    sun to shade the horizon with dying

    reds and yawning oranges.

    About The Author

    Ethan A. Baker

    Mr. Baker graduated from California State University, Long Beach in 2014 with a degree in English and a concentration in creative writing and literature. While at CSU, Ethan published two poems in editions of the student run magazine, the Union Weekly. In his spare time, he writes for his blog: ethanabliterature.wordpress.com.