Pingo by Tricia Elliott

Aug 31, 2018

Look with me

across this ice patterned ground

past the frost boils, the polygons, and scoured shield rock.


Let the wind lift this top casing, this skin of sphagnum and sedge.

It scatters easily

among the waving cottongrass, beneath ptarmigan and hare.

Let the midnight sun slide

on its slanty ridge roll

and gild your conical slopes, volcanic,

like the mountains. We wait,

cloaked in rose and awe,

for your undoing.


This is the scary part.

Yes, I know you are scared.

But the freedom is in the melting,

and in the flow of possibility,

of disassembly.

Look to the lupine, the snowy owl, the string bog.

They will tell you of moonlight, solifluction, and birch.

They will tell you to trust

that nature does not, in fact,

abhor the vacuum, but

adores it. It delights in rushing

to fill it,



Now is your time

to open.

That ice core, that frozen magma


has kept you out of reach

for long enough.

change the light

in your own way.

You belong here,

whatever your form.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This
Skip to content