" title="Brittle Star Julia Lewis
Polar
We met in the region north of the treeline and truth.
Neither of us spoke of the permafrost.
By summer he had made things difficult.
The lack of starlight was killing me.
Tongues of ice flowed down the mountains…
Dreams of my father dwarfed by dark headlands.
We mimed things better revealed than described.
Great chunks of ice toppled like falling skyscrapers.
His ship was becalmed by a chain of other women.
I have said everything I could possibly say on land.
Page(s) 16
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