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Neffs Canyon, April
by Katherine Indermaur

December 28, 2020 Contributed By: Katherine Indermaur

This poem was nominated for The Best of the Net.

Snow Thaw
Image by May_hokkaido from Pixabay

Across the dry creek bed, in drifts of silver

snow, a frozen yearling doe reclines

against the mountain slope. Her little legs

splay spindle-straight, the memory of standing

gone frost inside them. Though the snow

below begins to thaw, I want to think

her frozen, kept. A final resting place,

as if any body rests, as if

any place final. Her fur still smooth,

her eyes too and dark. Spring thaws on,

sheds the husk of headwaters down the canyon.

Avalanche lilies erupt from wet

undergrowth like yellow death knells,

bister stamen set to strike, then fall. 


KATHERINE INDERMAUR is the author of the chapbook Pulse (Ghost City Press, 2018) and editor for Sugar House Review. She is the winner of the Black Warrior Review 2019 Poetry Contest and the 2018 Academy of American Poets Prize, and was runner-up in the 2020 92Y Discovery Poetry Contest. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Coast|NoCoast, Colorado Review, the Cortland Review, Entropy, Frontier Poetry, Ghost Proposal, the Hunger, the Journal, New Delta Review, Oxidant|Engine, and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from Colorado State University and lives in Salt Lake City.

Filed Under: Poetry Posted On: December 28, 2020

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