Ice
by Albert Garcia
In this California valley, ice on a puddle
is a novelty for children
who stand awkward in their jackets
waiting for the school bus.
They lift off thin slabs
to hold up in the early light
like pieces of stained glass.
They run around,
throw them at each other,
lick them, laughing as their pink tongues stick
to the cold, their breath fogging
the morning gray.
Between the Sierras
in the distance and a faint film
of clouds, the sun rises
red like the gills of a salmon.
From your porch, watching the kids,
you love this morning more
than any you remember. You hear
the bus rumbling down the road
like the future, hear the squealing
voices, feel your own blood warm
in your body as the kids sing
like winter herons, Ice, ice, ice.
From Skunk Talk. Bear Star Press, 2005.
Reprinted with permission.
Read this and other poems by Albert Garcia in Skunk Talk, available for purchase online.
A poem of winter delight like this one by Albert Garcia seems the perfect way to mark the turning of another year. On what might have otherwise seemed a mundane morning, this speaker takes the time to watch California schoolchildren marveling at the ice that is still a “novelty” for them. The kids treat the ice like both a toy and a sacrament at the same time, lifting off “thin slabs/to hold up in the early light/like pieces of stained glass.” Eventually, the speaker confesses, talking to himself as if to reinforce the point: “From your porch, watching the kids,/you love this morning more/than any you remember.” His admission comes almost as a surprise, and reminds me of the Buddhist term, mudita, or “sympathetic joy,” which describes the act of taking pleasure in another’s joy. We sometimes forget that, even if we don’t quite feel uplifted ourselves, we can turn our gaze to those around us, and look for the light in them. We can allow ourselves to be touched by the playfulness and awe of others, “the squealing/voices” of children on their way to school, for instance, amazed by something as simple and miraculous as ice.
Invitation for Writing & Reflection: See if you can find something seemingly ordinary in your immediate surroundings that might become a source of wonder and awe. You might also stay attuned for a moment like the one Albert Garcia describes in his poem, when the delight of others becomes contagious, and you find yourself unexpectedly sharing in their sudden pleasure. What does “sympathetic joy” feel like to you?
ABOUT THE POET: Albert Garcia
Albert Garcia is the author of three books of poems, Rainshadow (Copper Beech Press), Skunk Talk (Bear Star Press), and A Meal Like That (Brick Road Poetry Press) as well as a textbook called Digging In: Literature for Developing Writers (Prentice Hall). His poems have appeared in journals such as Prairie Schooner, Willow Springs, Southern Poetry Review, and North American Review. Having worked most of his career at Sacramento City College both as professor and administrator, he currently serves that school as Vice President of Instruction.
POETRY SELECTION AND COMMENTARY BY JAMES CREWS
James Crews is the author of four collections of poetry: The Book of What Stays, Telling My Father, Bluebird, and Every Waking Moment. He is also the editor of two anthologies: Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection and How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope. His poems have appeared in Ploughshares, The New Republic, The New York Times Magazine, The Sun, and have been reprinted in Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry and featured on Tracy K. Smith’s podcast, The Slowdown. James teaches at SUNY-Albany and lives with his husband in Vermont.
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