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  • In February
  • Margaret Haberman (bio)

Before we sheltered in place, we walkedthe icy half mile down to the lake. Spikeson our boots, crust breaking beneath us.At the crest of the hill, that high placewhere the pines stand apart, the crownsof their regal selves bowed back revealinga full moon, borrowing glory and hope,making shadows as if daylight.

The children, no longer children, walkedwith the dog onto the ice, to the little islandwhere after the thaw the snapping turtlewill lurch to shore to lay her eggs. Somewhere,down in the mud, breath slowed to an even,imperceptible pace, she waits for what is next.

We walked circles around cold embersof an ice fisherman's fire, the remains of a fishleft to freeze into opaque white. The moon,with its illusion of light, and permanence,illuminated only part of our world. Nothing,nothing, of what was to come.

In May, the turtle's world, with luck,will look the same: tiny island with thickunderbrush, flat rock for sunning, weedybottom of lake for refuge, shelter. Now, weare the ones waiting, lurching forward, workinghard to slow our breath, praying for spring. [End Page 154]

Margaret Haberman

Margaret Haberman has lived in Maine since 1986. She spent over 20 years in Bethel and now lives in the outer reaches of Hope. Her poems "Phantom" and "Mary's Garden" were selected for "Poems from Here," on Maine Public Radio. Her poem "In Spite of the Forecast" was recently published in The Island Journal. She works professionally as an American Sign Language interpreter and writes poetry in the places in between. maghaberman60@gmail.com.

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