In Ouray

    It was during a cold snap last March in Ouray
    when the power went out: the thermometer stuck
    minus thirty at night and in daytime the pine smoke
    constipated the valley, pushing its way up
    the blue couloirs, sitting like soap water
               in the sharp, distant sun over town.

    The sewer pipes ruptured, the snow-plows’ engines
    seized and the radio tower went silent.
    Eight-foot columns of brittle white ice hung down
    from the high-school roof but the students were told
    to show up all the same, and the whole population
               developed the same dripping cold.

    —It was then that early on a clear Sunday morning
    (the coldest days always dawn clear in Ouray)
    a man and a woman joined the children at play
    on the lake ice. They blew soap bubbles that froze
    instantly solid and tossed them about
               and broke them and simply made more.

     Evans Winner
     Seattle Washington
     2002