Saturday, 18 November 2017

Even Ink Freezes

This may be the coldest village,
Verkhoyansk, where temperatures
Drop to minus sixty seven Celsius;
Still we have 3G so we can observe
Another world through Instagram.

A world where water flows from taps
And is not delivered in ice blocks
To be melted indoors
And where car engines are not
Left running all winter.

This is our delicacy, Stroganina,
Frozen fish slices eaten raw;
There is no fast food here;
What is the point
We have plenty time.

Our numbers are falling,
Many long for the nearest city
Hundreds of miles away,
For escape from a place where
Even ink freezes before writing.

© David Subacchi

Growing up in -60C

David Subacchi lives in Wales (UK) where he was born of Italian roots. He studied at the University of Liverpool and has 4 published collections of his English Language poetry: First Cut (2012), Hiding in Shadows (2014), Not Really a Stranger (2016) and A Terrible Beauty (2016) as well as a collection in Welsh: Eglwys Yng Nghremona (2016).

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