The Chasing Iamb

Then it was that little Gerda walked into the Palace,
through the great gates, in a biting wind...She saw Kay,
and knew him at once; she flung her arms round his neck,
held him fast, and cried, "Kay, little Kay, have I found you
at last.
But he sat still, rigid and cold.

-Hans Christian Andersen, "The Snow Queen"

You said you were ready, you'd be careful.
Smart girl, you wore two cardigans, a turtleneck,
fur lined boots, scarves,
a stocking cap with jingle bells.
And over the ice you came, gay as Santa,
singing and bringing gifts.

Ah, but the journey was long, so much longer
than you'd expected, and the air so thin,
the sky so high and black.
What are these cold needles, what are these shafts of ice,
you wondered on the fourteenth day.
What are those tracks that glitter overhead?

The one you came to see was silent,
he wouldn't say "stars" or "snow,"
wouldn't point south, wouldn't teach survival.

And you'd lost your boots, your furs,
now you were barefoot on the ice floes, fingers blue,
tears freezing and fusing your eyelids.

Now you know: this is the place
where water insists on being ice,
where wind insists on breathlessness,
where the will of the cold is so strong
that even the stone's desire for heat
is driven into the eye of night.

What will you do now, little Gerda?
Kay and the Snow Queen are one, they're a single
pillar of ice, a throne of silence -
and they love you
the way the teeth of winter
love the last red shred of November.

Sandra M Gilbert