Winter, this muteness

Hold on, a friend says, light will return. Oh, these December days of long dark and little light. In this season — when the heart is heavy, the body chilled — I cling to her refrain.

December

Too long alone again and words clutter,

hover behind my clenched teeth, my mouth

no longer sure what slight adjustments equal speech.

My tongue is the petal of a tulip touched by front.

My throat, in the next year, will belong to the hawk

or the fat, black garden snake lying dormant

now in the crawlspace beneath the house.

Winter is made of this muteness and these windows

and the long view of white fields through icy glass

where nothing moves and nothing raises its voice.

— Sandy Longhorn
from Blood Almanac

Comments

[Sandy Longhorn]

It's funny, Drew, but I rarely remember to seek comfort in my own poems! Thanks for the reminder that I've learned this lesson many times.

I appreciate you sharing the poem with your readers.

[Shawnte]

It's so disheartening when horrible news understandably overshadows everything else.
But it is important to remember that people like us far outnumber the horrible ones.

[Drew]

You're right, Shawnte. I think it's the dark winter season (here in the damp north corner) -- combined with recent events -- that has me a bit laden. All over the internet, I see people reading and writing in response to tragedy, and I am buoyed by the way we instinctually seek comfort through poems and prose.

[Drew]

Sandy -
I'm pleased to share your work with others. I especially enjoy your "month" poems.

[Molly Spencer]

I love Sandy's month poems too! (and many others). Thanks for this, the perfect poem for this month, this moment.

[Drew]

And, thank you, Molly, for stopping by. Always good to see you here. : )