Even in this century
when an ice storm approaches
and remote voices break in
to tell us It’s on its way
as though we needn’t bother to feel
that knowing chill
in our dog whistle bones
at one in the morning on a moonless
night alone in our shared rooms
no lights or computer or water
as sagging ash limbs sleeved with ice
break with shotgun blasts
some leftover ancestral sense
cowers in the darkness and whispers streams
of thin breath through our woodwind frames
is how it felt for me.
William Rudolph earned his MFA in Writing from Vermont College—where his mentors included Mark Cox, Jody Glading, Leslie Ullman, and Roger Weingarten; he also has studied poetry under Edward Hirsch at Breadloaf and Jane Mead at the University of Iowa.
His poetry has appeared in Barrow Street, The North American Review, Rosebud, Quarterly West, The Nebraska Review, Rattle, The Comstock Review, The English Journal, The South Dakota Review, and many other journals—most recently Steam Ticket, SLANT, Blood & Bourbon, Flint Hills Review, and The Briar Cliff Review. He coaches student writers at Grinnell College and in GC’s Liberal Arts in Prison Program.