Snow
Walking through a field with my little brother Seth I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow. For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground. He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer. Then we were on the roof of the lake. The ice looked like a photograph of water. Why he asked. Why did he shoot them. I didn't know where I was going with this. They were on his property, I said. When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room. Today I traded hellos with my neighbor. Our voices hung close in the new acoustics. A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling. We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence. But why were they on his property, he asked.
—David Berman
I have read this poem a few times now, and it's an odd story.
ReplyDeleteHow old is the narrator? Seth is really curious and gullible, so probably pretty young. Is the older sibling making up a story or just plain out lying? It's sounding almost like a scary story or legend. Who kills angels???
The descriptions are interesting too: roof, like a room, a room with walls blasted.
And whats with the neighbor? Trading hellos, like baseball cards? Voices hanging close...
Is the narrator shoveling with Seth or the neighbor?
Lots of holes in this story, but it makes an interesting read trying to figure it out or imagine what's between the lines.