Solipsism day.

I’m publishing one of my own, to celebrate my latest rejection letters. Hoorah! I rock because I keep on trying when the world says no.

It is a fairly fresh poem, so consider this an online workshop and tell me what you think.


by Helen Lehndorf

I was thirty-three before I learned
people stuck in snow
can die from dehydration
I would melt icicles
on my tongue for you, resist
the drinking down, drip it
into you. Then repeat, repeat
until my lips were raw.

Deep snow squeaks. We
stop on the Desert Road
because of the snow. You
throw snowballs at the
‘Warning: Army Training Area’ sign.
I take macro-photographs of
icicles on tussock.

When we drive up the Desert Road
we lose National Radio, we lose
cellphone reception, we lose
all hope. I was thirty-seven before
I considered not trying to always fix
things. I read an article in the New Yorker
about Wabi-Sabi – the beauty in the
broken and the worn. The integrity
of the much-used utilitarian object.

But then there was an
interview on National Radio
about a woman flying
to Mexico to be put in a coma
so she can wake up mended. “It is
like rebooting a computer,” said the doctor.

Despite Wabi-Sabi, I want that.
To live in snow and not be thirsty.
I want good reception all the way
up the country. I want a shiny, clean
version of myself. Closedown,
hibernate, restart.