Travel like words through white space, like tracks in the snow of an empty field which the wind blows over, sweeping the pages and blurring the edges of letters, numbers in ledgers, the hedges of margins which seek to contain the infinite steps on paths and roads coming and going, back and forth, hébe-hóba, in heat in snow, now and then as the saying goes but the saying goes on forever, or as long as memory, letter by letter, pushes ahead into the drifts and dunes, the moonscape blizzard of going and knowing there’s a forest ahead or at least a grove in which to pause for shelter, the camp of a preface or forward, oasis or harbor, a moment to cower, or shower and rest and catch a breath before again you begin to meander across the face of the paper, the polar waste you seek to trek becoming a blank and arctic place but still you go, despite the snow and ice and cold, the blow-by-blow account of your erasure.


Amy Jo Minett

Amy Jo Minett has been involved in extensive international language projects for many years throughout Afghanistan, Iraq, and Central/Eastern/Southeastern Europe. She is also a professor of English at the Salem State University in Salem, Massachusetts (USA), where she teaches English and Graduate TESOL courses. She has a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry from the University of Virginia. Her works have been previously published in Poetry East, Poetry Northwest, The Jacaranda Review, and The Wisconsin Academy Review.