The Furious Gazelle

Literary as hell.

“The Giants,” a poem by Holly Day

the giants sleep as the snow comes down

covering their lumbering bodies in sheets

of frozen white. their warm breath

carves holes in the unbroken

rolling hills, melts snow into  runoff.

 

the giants sleep as the village children

come to explore the new snow-covered hills

drag heavy sleds up to the highest peaks

perch on broad shoulders, rounded hips, the tips

of bulbous noses, before hurling themselves into the air

crashing against the stunted trees down below.

 

when spring comes, the giants will awake

shake free the last bits of melting ice

before pushing up against the ground to stand.

they’ll see the fires of the nearby village

hold serious, heated discussions on whether to destroy

the tiny houses, the tiny people, or just ignore

the miniature urban landscape entirely

 

and go back to their own colossal homes, their monstrous families waiting

in the mountaintops, hidden by banks of billowing clouds

far, far away.

 


Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Tampa Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, while her recently published books include Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, A Brief History of Stillwater Minnesota, and  Ugly Girl.

1 Comment

  1. I enjoyed this poem about the giants that children can sled upon. Imaginative, but not overly contrived–and the writing style, somewhat everyday and matter of fact, belies the magic in the story. I live in MN and can relate. Wonderful!

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