Although he came from the mountains
(this much I learnt)
he didn’t understand my words for snow.
I fluttered my fingers
in front of him
but he only saw the wings of birds.
I led him to the window
wrapped myself in my arms
at the shivering sky but he only stared.
It was slow and involved
of sun, wind and rain but we got there.
Sometimes I think of him
back at the border
I imagine his mountains their fingers of shadow
the stutter of gunfire
the quietness of snow.
(from The Zig Zag Woman, Two Ravens Press)