Albedo Effect
by Jeremy Audet
restoring Super 8 film of my father putting up
powerlines in Nunavut fifty years ago feels like unearth;
his wisped body slips in half-time into the bulbed
horizon change, as if spinepressed to the kids
who tried to walk home using those meridians of progress,
there in the marginal flux, waiting for an eager eye,
a glacial wring, a remembrance marker toppled in the melt,
like black specks braided to a blackening snow