- Ice Storm, 1996
the world shone everything sheathed in a layer of glass as if preserved in thick lacquer I pressed my young face against a window felt the burn of the outside trying to come in etched my name in one of the fogged panes Aunt Crane’s car was frozen shut keeping her from her postal route in the country when the service sent two men blowtorch and heatlamp in hand to unstick the doors they couldn’t No mail today black smoke rose continuously from our chimney my father sending me outside on trips to the woodpile nothing moved our yard a study in stillness at night I read fireside from National Geographic it’s new vocabulary Ursus maritimus Nunavik the things in the world that were not Tennessee the stubborn pieces of this world that would not thaw [End Page 113]
Jim Whiteside holds degrees from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and Vanderbilt University. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Barn Owl Review, Forklift, Ohio, the minnesota review, Phoebe, and Post Road, among others. Originally from Cookeville, Tennessee, he now lives in Greensboro, North Carolina.