Breaking Through Ice

Donalee Moulton-Barrett was a writer and editor in Halifax.

Seasons fascinate Elizabeth Philips and it’s a fascination that overflows and illuminates her poetry. Nature has seasons, people have seasons, relationships have seasons, and Philips entwines all three changing metaphors into one full-flowing lyric. The poems about her grandparents, in particular, blend the seasonal imagery with the details of reality: “Granny drew a garden / and six children / from the dark earth / of her breasts. / Playing cheat / at cards, she would knock / on the table rather than lie.”

Even when Philips deals with death and pain — the winters of our existence — her poetry is smooth and melodic, like a lullabye: “I am alone / in this dead / quiet room.”

There is only one problem with Breaking Through Ice (aside from the shoddy, bland cover): it’s too short. When the work is this good, 30 pages simply isn’t enough.