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A Nest in a Copse, and: Little Sister of the Snow

From: Colorado Review
Volume 41, Number 1, Spring 2014
pp. 119-121 | 10.1353/col.2014.0033

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

I know I am a dust
    speck, a dirt clod, a pebble
in the starry shuffle—I am but silt, rainweft,
a snow-
        in snow-
melt—sunlight splintered & split by an eyeblink,
a footnote in a bird zone,
the echo
    of a whistle
            of the speed train’s series
of elisions—sliding, riding, rolling, gliding, a sheen
    in the wind, spindrift in a sunbeam.

I write of time’s accumulation, in doing time,
    routine’s what
    I’ve got—habit—boots worn down,
for sleep’s lack, I dream in my coat, doze in my hat.

If when then
    now another year’s done
in—my heart ever ardent as any’s fool
prone to seduction
        (a petaled pattern in a woodland,
a nest in a copse).
        If more for loss, if wisdom in subtraction
take not nature—my prayer—from me, nor my song,
        whip-poor-will in the willow
    and who has seen the wind?

Little Sister of the Snow

Now nightfall bird broken by songs unbidden
so absolutely sung
you hear them, wondering how
    that gentle is possible,
and the train whistles
down hills, sylvan alleys
where deer and fox and boar share
    these paths,
their snowy tracks softly taken back by all this

    Elsewhere snowdrops, a glade of them
in a back garden. Late winter splendor,
daylight’s sweet accretion—let me love you
just a little longer—

    of an evening—my winter river deeply
sleek upon these flood lines
    the willow sweeps & wept,
so the Seine, storm ridden, ups the ante
(pulling all it can down and in—then some-
    times) just as unwritten—those gulls gone
home—smoked out in mist and frost.

I like to walk there with my horse, wandering
wherein the barren birch & pine there is a pond,
tawny in the center of the copse—its snowy
velvet coverlet, an eyelet of rot—I love
    its shadows. You choose the color—
yellow, rosy, amber, pan icy floss
an upside down image of
    those girly trees, reflected
golden scratch, twigs, and needles drifting
into the pattern. Here I am.

Answers, I don’t know them.
My papa says all’s in the asking—so

    doubt driven, I offer my questions
to the changeable, temporal
world, j’ai la nostalgie de mon pays—.

Little sister of the snow,
    what does your soul look like?

Molly Lou Freeman  

Molly Lou Freeman is currently writing a novel. Recipient of an Academy of American Poets Prize and poetry awards from the French National Literary Endowment, she teaches and translates poetry in Paris. She has recently lectured on poetry at the nyu and Columbia University Departments of Creative Writing. She rides horses and lives in France and Mexico.

Copyright © 2014 Center for Literary Publishing
Project MUSE® - View Citation
Molly Lou Freeman. "A Nest in a Copse, and: Little Sister of the Snow." Colorado Review 41.1 (2014): 119-121. Project MUSE. Web. 21 Mar. 2014. <http://muse.jhu.edu/>.
Freeman, M. L.(2014). A Nest in a Copse, and: Little Sister of the Snow. Colorado Review 41(1), 119-121. Center for Literary Publishing. Retrieved March 21, 2014, from Project MUSE database.
Molly Lou Freeman. "A Nest in a Copse, and: Little Sister of the Snow." Colorado Review 41, no. 1 (2014): 119-121. http://muse.jhu.edu/ (accessed March 21, 2014).
T1 - A Nest in a Copse, and: Little Sister of the Snow
A1 - Molly Lou Freeman
JF - Colorado Review
VL - 41
IS - 1
SP - 119
EP - 121
PY - 2014
PB - Center for Literary Publishing
SN - 2325-730X
UR - http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/colorado_review/v041/41.1.freeman.html
N1 - Volume 41, Number 1, Spring 2014
ER -


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