Brenda Smith is photographed reading her poem on December 3, 2016 at Art of Poetry. Photo courtesy of Roger and Ginny Sanford.
after “Taos Winter” by Pat Viles
On this ice slick trunk he built his treehouse
many-roomed confabrication, geometric and magical, both.
Bursting pink fire fairies for his waiflike daughter,
girl with an elsewhere mind exploding into pufflike possibilities.
Once detonated, her dreams floated her upward into geometry
places where you choose your own colors and shapes for dwelling.
One, a plain brown room, a precarious perch jutting off into air
a tiny brilliant red haven for those kinfolk craving color
a circular eyeball room, painted purple, round opaque window
emanating light into the dark green woodland
organic wing, pressed into sand-colored walls with ample holes
to see through, or fall through. Climb upward to the warm orange
family room, large enough to accommodate all who belong.
Drop down into blue ice room—all for fun, for seeing, for slipping,
for sliding down into the enveloping forest.