“Snow Gives Only Shade”

by Carol Parris Krauss

In December, the water around these parts is brown. Dun.

There is no iridescent reflection, no flash of teal, emerald. 

You can not see the glint of the bluegill as it taps

and punctures the surface. Nor gaze the verdant spots

and stripes of the hustling dragonfly. Chapel window wings.

At the shoreline, crusty fingers tipped in ice, 

stab the water. Trying to draw blood ink. Script a name 

to the gunnel boat bumping against the dock. The trees

keep watch on the bank, throw only inky shadows. 

Dark whispers. Snow will fall when night stumbles

in, give a chalky blanket to this colorless scene. Cover

the uncolor knowing it holds all the hues. 

Give shade. 

Carol Parris Krauss enjoys using place/nature as theme vehicles. Her poetry can be found at Louisiana Literature(forthcoming), Scrawl Place(forthcoming), The Skinny Poetry Journal, Story South, the South Carolina Review, and Broadkill Review. She was honored to be recognized as a Best New Poet by the University of Virginia Press. In 2021, she won the Eastern Shore Writers Association Crossroads Contest and her chapbook, Just a Spit Down the Road, was published by Kelsay Books.