There is a clever impli­ca­tion to the title of Lau­ren Win­ches­ter​’s poem ​“Eat­ing the Glac­i­er”. The poet is seduced by the thought of eat­ing some­thing as ancient as glac­i­er ice which can be, I am told, thou­sands of years old. This is a work of hum­bling envi­ron­men­tal­ism, the desire to achieve a cer­tain immor­tal­i­ty by con­nect­ing to the ele­ments: ​“I gaze at the ice, thirsty for its light” she says. But the most human, trag­ic-com­ic, moment fol­lows, when ​“the ice turns its back” on her hubris.