The Iceberg an Animal Gone Astray in Search of Time
by Judith Lapadat
Its hulked form nosing into steel grey bay
the chop, its incessant slap, the cold salt
chuck, but running deep an inexorable pull
past ancient broken arms of shore
rock jagged, slick and dark.
No welcome here—shards, sharp barnacles
slice translucent feet, small hands red with cold
still iceberg, cold crystalline core
yearns for that eternal clutch
paws that knead the teat
their suckling in the now, a gobbling
that grants the greedy gene
another tide, another moan, another moon
the undertow that pulls her into
another steel grey bay.
She sheds fresh water into salt
fractures, diminishes
her turquoise heart dulls
expended by the pull, the chop, the slop
ice age old, she feeds time’s sea.
The title is a line from Patrick Lane’s poem, “Icebergs off Fogo Island.”
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Photo Credit: Wendy Duke
Judith Lapadat (she/her) was born in a village in northern British Columbia, obtained several university degrees, raised her children as a single parent after the death of her partner, succeeded in an academic career beyond her wildest dreams, and kept writing the whole time. Her poetry collection, Mixed Messages (Caitlin Press), followed a co-authored collection, Groping Our Way Beyond Grief. Her work appears in many journals and anthologies. She’s working on a climate fiction novel.
Website: https://www.notchhillart.com/