Icy Water
Janine Canan
Two people jump off the Golden Gate for Christmas and Phyllis' manuscript arrives. Icy cold water. A woman in the water dragged ashore. Condition unknown. I am worried about Phyllis, her poems. They tell the truth. No jokes. No fire in the place. The poet is having a hard time. She is not in love and is trying to work out an old relationship. How long ago did it start? I ask. When you were just a girl playing with your red wagon? A large red bow tied around the wagon under the Christmas tree. An electric train from Santa Claus instead of brothers. The Christmas I was thirteen I snuck downstairs while everyone else slept. Alongside the tree, of equal stature, a golden harp. I swooned alone in love. I wanted to be an angel. When I plucked those strings I would be sweet. Pink organdy. Seated on your lap, swaddled in your perfume, your aura. Love. The woman jumped because of no love. Like a knife into icy water.
