Taking some of the most common human experiences and putting them clearly into words, Abigail Kloss-Aycardi takes on you multi-emotion journeys through trials of lost friendship, frustrations and triumphs in love, overcoming personal struggles, affectionate memories of family and the difficulties of artistic endeavors in her book: "Out of Reach - A Poet in Permafrost"
Excerpt
Excerpt
East Twin Tour
{For Dad}
If I were to assign a smell to this river muck I’d say it was melted copper dipped in honey
And rancid tartar sauce
The stomach of this river
That has digested myriads of oak leaves and steelhead trout
And enveloped my feet into its mushy folds
As I tried to capture gargantuan crayfish
Which threaten everyone with their burgundy pinchers
Guarding their armored bodies
I’ll point to all the brightly colored fishing lures
That I snagged in the trees or sunken logs
When I over cast my rod
After seeing the swirl of the catfish
We can never catch
(Do you think it was “Elmer”?)
I can show you where the water is so low
That the canoe cannot slide across the filmy surface
When the cotton woods drop their silky locks
And we are beached helplessly
Left only to pick out the river clams from the silt bottom
And when we are finally able to turn the boat against the current I’ll show you the rapids
Where the water squirts and gushes and giggles
Over the softly rounded rocks that threaten our vessel
If we follow the wrong eddy
Of this clear liquid slalom course
I’ll take you further down the tranquil stretch
Where the cedars are like castle walls that protect us
On both sides like soaring, massive guards
That command silence and make the waters stand still
And when we get back to the bank close to the house
I’ll remind you of how funny it looked
When you fell backwards out of the canoe
While we stood on the dock laughing because we were still dry
And you were not
Epitaph for the Deceased Poet
Here lies the quill
There the inkwell
And the parchments
Never to be newly inscribed
For below this trampled grass
Are the remains of what used to be
A poet
Overtaken by endless noise
Constantly surrounded by people Incessant chatter or traffic
And a fathomless lack of beauty
Thus
She perished in silence
With tears
And no final words...
For they had all been taken from her
Excerpts from "Out of Reach - A Poet in Permafrost" Copyright 2012 Abigail Kloss-Aycardi
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
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