WHEN I WAS TEN

Standing on an ice floe
my own
Not very close to the one that my fourteen year old brother
had broken off and was poling around on
moving quickly through slushy waters.
Hearing my other brother's rifle bullets cut the day,
shattering clouds, my ears, making my face sting
thankfully disappearing over the white mountain range
 into lake Michigan
Watching my red boots fill with ice water
 Never thinking that this translucent raft
Could be pulled out through the gap, a one-way passage
Walking back home with my corduroy-jacketed brothers
Damp inside my wet mittens and soaking socks
frozen feet crunching across the twilighted snow
A red cardinal fluttering in my chest

e.bouman, 2011