With Child
Marni Asplund-Campbell, editor

All Day at 30 Degrees
Dixie Lee Partridge

“The melting and freezing points of a substance are the same.”
—my daughter’s science class notes

[p.139] Still white out.
It can go either way—
like that rim before tears,
like her silence:

            my seventeen-year daughter runs
            in all weather, skipping meals
            to grow lean.

            We’ve repeated the ritual:
            Dinner’s almost on …
            Later, Mom, …
            the closing of the front door.


There’s a point of exertion
when one more movement will bring a dew
to the brow.
The moving beauty of water
curved above the cup’s lip
spills down all sides
with one more drop.

            [p.140] Last night I looked up the word
            anorexia, found it comes from the Greek
            meaning without reaching out.

            Now with a feline caution
            I follow her outside, but don’t know
            what to call after her,
            her two-mile route into blue light.


Not yet a syllable from the eaves
to start the windows singing.
Under the far albino sun,
blue stones of creekbeds
are open mouths in the snow.

            Her tall, thin form,
            her pale skin and hair,
            dissolve into a milky distance.