Kelly R. Samuels

Hiking to Lake Agnes in Snow

It was mid-May but colder than usual, she said.
We didn’t know, had never been before.
The lake below was still frozen. They had warned us 
not to step out on its thinning ice, of avalanche, now, 
with the slow thaw. They said: No further than here—.
Up ahead, at a pace that outpaced us, a lone 
woman. Only her prints in the snow marked
her swift ascent with her capable lungs.
Everyone else might well have been sleeping. 
We wondered if we had not stumbled back
into winter. Anything was possible, having gone
back in time. I think I always led—sometimes
placing my feet where hers had been, sometimes
not. It wasn’t easy, and there were views
to be seen: sudden breaks in the pines 
where the mountain’s side bared itself.
I could not get over that mountain and its slope. 
Nor its perpetual snow. I kept speaking in exclamation.
Up, and then a switchback. Up and then, steadily, up
again. We warmed and shed what we could, baring
our heads, our hands. At some point, it began
to snow, or we imagined it, wanting it. In the picture 
of me you took, standing alongside the lake, my hair 
is wet, my cheeks red. Nothing could be heard
but our steadying intake of breath. If we looked 
at a map, I have forgotten.   

Lotte Laserstein on Exile in Northern Climes 

I have come here to where it is even colder
and the light more milky.

I would if I could find it in me paint 
with vibrant hue the sly eye and slight smile 
with wash of crimson behind. But. But.

There is the pale skin of those who do not sit 
in the sun. And snow. And snow. 
Only the feral cornflower gracing me in June.

Sometimes the brush seems weighted, my wrist weak. 
What was that song we once sang?

Fleeing the rise of the German National Socialist regime and anti-Semitism, Laserstein emigrated to Sweden in 1937, where she continued to reside and paint until her death in 1993. For more on her life and work: https://www.modernamuseet.se/stockholm/en/exhibitions/lotte-laserstein/

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