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Thin Ice

by Nance Van Winckel

I was walking on it,
the it I gave no thought to
and which my father got the gist of
and had to scold me about. It
was creaking. Newly hatched,
the jewel-toned fish swam
beneath: cold vault of readied
kisses. I went slowly on it—young
lady—trying to be leaf-like,
to be zip, zero, zilch,
while the old man’s voice
lifted—Who?!—from a shore
forty years off—just who
do you think you are?


Nance Van Winckel’s fifth collection of poems, No Starling, is recently out from University of Washington Press. She is the recipient of two NEA Poetry Fellowships and awards from the Poetry Society of America, Poetry, and Prairie Schooner. New poems appear in The Kenyon Review, the Pushcart Prize anthology, The Southern Review, Poetry Northwest, Crazyhorse, FIELD, and The Gettysburg Review. She is also the author of three collections of short fiction. She teaches in the MFA programs at Eastern Washington University and Vermont College. (10/2008)

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