Life on My Side

Parts of this winter have been really difficult. Beyond the general thisness of life in America these days, there was a long stretch of December days when the sun didn’t shine at all. Today’s draft came from one of those days, where I almost felt like I couldn’t stand it anymore, then, because of one little detail, I found that I could.

This is what poetry is, to me. It is noticing deeply enough that something small can shift an entire worldview. At least for a moment.

I walked in gloom in Cherokee Park,

cold to the marrow,

heavy with age and lack of light.

A crone in the gloom giving lie to the assertion

that I am in the most powerful season of life.

A crone alone: no deer, one squirrel,

at rest in a nook of tree branches formed

into a perfect squirrel-shaped seat.

The sky held so many thick gray clouds,

I could look directly into its face with no consequence.

I walked. I breathed. I shivered.

Turn one corner to see, scattered on the bridge edge,

abundance of yellow winter berries,

one squirrel feasting, mouth stuffed

full of sunshine goodness.

At my approach, it dropped a berry, jumped,

disappeared into the brown gray forest.

Soon after, blue sky pushed aside gray clouds,

touched the ground with patterns of light and shadow and

once again

life was on my side.