by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In the cold winters
around the Great Lakes,
ice moves
in constant, fluid motion
making cracking sounds,
thundering sounds
as ice heaves against ice,
shelf against shelf,
sending echoes out,
across a cold, stiff night,
that sound like a war
being waged,
like someone shooting off cannons
in some distant place.
She is telling us
she is still here;
she is still alive!
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