Playing in the Snow

by Joel Lipson

Ice man. Ice man.
I sought you on snowy days when I was a young boy.
While my family played with sleds or warmed themselves indoors,
My purpose was altogether more serious.
Ice man. Ice man. I would call, inviting you
To enter my garden, so frostily emblazoned with two-
and-a-half inches of snow.
You never did, at least not to my knowledge,
But I saw you once or twice just past the fence.
Ice man. Ice man. I repeated, exuding endless fascination
Which mother attributed to my young imagination.
I never stopped repeating your name,
Even when I grew. I hushed you into the corner of my mind
Where you froze, and expanded.
Blood boy. Blood boy. I can see you now,
Seeking something awful in the snow.
When the winters are thick and the wind is strong,
I come to watch your search.
I do on occasion venture in,
Over the fence, which I know well from both sides,
But never when you can see.
Blood boy. Blood boy. I murmur to myself,
You haven’t tasted the bitter cold as
I have, or become lost in it.
How could I inflict that upon you, as you are now?
You will find what you seek in time.
Blood boy. Blood boy.