ICE Age

The bright mountains are reshaped

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

The story of this poem: ICE has been showing up in my neighborhood with increasing regularity, loitering near our schools and scaring our kids. I’d like to go on record with my opposition to my country’s descent into fascism.

ICE AGE

Shall I describe
The ICE Age of 2025?
The glaciers over the land are black,
Packed with close-cropped heads
Under bandannas
And backwards baseball caps.

We’re coming for you.
You think you have your rights,
But we have our guns,
And once you're zip-tied, you can't fight.

The bright mountains are reshaped into something crushed and round.
What sharp features will we miss once the glaciers melt away?
What silence will replace sound?

Should we lock you in a van,
Or should we stow you in a plane?
Just when you start to learn them,
We change the rules to our game.

I tiptoe with steaming kettle to sabotage in the night:
I sneak to the base of the glacier and pour out my rage,
Destabilize the wall before me, melt a tunnel through,
Show the molecules how they can become a shape that’s new.

We’re marching on to Gilead.
Our faith could not be more strong.
God is on our side, and so,
The works of our hands cannot be wrong.

To survive an ICE age requires Arctic insulation.
That’s why when bodies gain weight,
The powers above proclaim that it’s not right.
But then,
A sturdy lock will always offend a thief who moves at night. 

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