Summer 2005


Summer 2005


My Antarctica is green with bending light from the sun, a thousand
avocadoes, for the longest time, her only grass.

My Antarctica weeps with longing ­ penguins for their chicks, with 100 souls
for the first and only time flying, westward, under copper crowns, for the
want of krill and the touch of slick black fins.

My Antarctica holds Scott and his men, closely, and the sleep of dogs and
horses from a far-flung, kinder pole; she holds us in her release; she begs
us for our own sake to stay away, but we reach her in the form of invisible

My Antarctica groans with the crush of ice, snapped like a towel upward in
the wind. If we are to rise, it must never fall.

My Antarctica weeps because she is melting. She spills a Nile's worth, and
more. Islands are traffic, stalled in her veins.

My Antarctica has much to give, but must be kept from giving. Sleep they
must, her birds and dinosaurs of the equatorial age, if we are to remain

Meg Smith is a journalist, poet, events producer and fiction writer living in Lowell Mass. Her poetry has appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetrybay, Erosha, The Offering, Tryst, Pudding, The Cafe Review, Renovation Journal and others. She is a member of the board of directors of the annual Lowell Celebrates Kerouac! literary festival. Sher performs Oriental dance with the name Morgana, and is associate editor of Middle Eastern Dance in New England magazine and staff writer with Jareeda magazine of Middle Eastern Dance. She is the editor/publisher of Red Eft, a literary journal of horror and Gothic writing and arts, at She also welcomes visits to her Web site,



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