By Erin Rhoda, 2009 George Mitchell Scholar.
Erin Rhoda is a writer and poet from Washington, Maine, who is pursuing a master's in Creative Writing from Trinity College Dublin as a George Mitchell Scholar.
We drifted through the city
as two mourning doves might spend their lives:
flitting, halting, parting for minutes
but always nearby.
Snowflakes fell as night gathered,
and we strolled cautiously
on new ice. We were engulfed
by the stones of buildings
and a banjo player's song.
In the nightfall
we went down
and down farther
to the water and the boats.
We climbed aboard a yacht,
unmanned and brooding in the waves,
and sat on the upper deck
in the last splinters of sun,
while the clouds spilled snow
upon our wings.
It was visible in the night,
smoothing the cars and buildings
to their basic forms. I imagined
us encased in it all, two bumps
on a stranger's boat. I never really
loved you. Still I thought of us
years later in rocking chairs
on our front lawn, wrapped
in blankets and becoming pure white.
Falling snow isn't silent but a whispering.