February 28, 2009


A late snow fell not long after green shoots of early grasses

loosed the grip of a hard and dirty winter. I caught up my camera
and walked to Centennial Park, where a copy of the Parthenon
stood with many columned legs upon a field and
waited for Athena to arrive on the West End bus.

I stepped off the graveled path to cut through
a sculptured forest that bordered a shallow pool.
A drifting smog of onion breath from the Crystal Burger
lingered in my lungs. I stopped to breathe deeply
of sun spiced bark and dampened lichen.

Distant traffic tumbled like water over rocks.
Under the supple branches of a wax myrtle,
half in the shadow where snow still clung and
half flung across a sunny patch of greening earth,
a ballroom gown lay full displayed upon the ground.

The myrtle’s roots, like veins under thin skin, led my eyes
to the water’s edge where a woman floated, drowned,
unrequited from some intent I could not know,
and now face down in the ice skimmed pond,
light brown against the fallen snow.

I could not help her, so I took her picture.
Now, thirty years later, I hold in my hand
this three by five memory, listen to
traffic scumbling distant bricks,
and feel the frost forming.

About charles frenzel

I've been writing all my life. I've also painted, composed, sculpted, contributed to molecular research, advanced some mathematical concepts, lived on a sailboat, and worked for a Nobel Prize winner. Nothing in my life has pleased me more than to share my life with my wife and friend of over forty years.

View all posts by charles frenzel


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