I liked today’s NaPoWriMo suggestion to write a season-specific poem engaging all five senses and using a rhetorical question. I decided to blend it with the Poetic Asides call for an “exile” poem.
Why is it so difficult to banish?
That stubborn cold that burrows down to the bone,
pinch felt on the skin when you dare to step outside uncovered.
The look of winter remains long after spring has made its calendar declaration.
Gaunt branches poking at cloudy skies, the scent of fetid leaves in murky melt puddles.
Stubborn islands of snow and ice in the shadowy parts of a yard imploring a seasonal shift.
Guardian birds who’ve overseen winter’s term sing songs of eviction and welcome.
Leaveleave Leaveleave calls the chickadee. Come Come Come rallies the crow.
We munch sweet greenhouse carrots, savour tangy lemons imported from hot places.
Ingest what we desire — freshness, tenderness, growth. Forced internal blooming
to overtake a season of still grey.
Sometimes the prompts align seamlessly. Today’s Stroll of Poets prompt called for an “unknowable” poem, while Poetic Asides suggested poems having anything to do with “dark.” Infinite possibilities, but this is what sparked in my brain.
Staring at the night sky, December, north of the 52nd parallel, fixate
not on every glimmering point of light, but the blackness that holds them.
Face bit by the kind of cold that reminds you you’re alive.
That distracts you from the impenetrable idea of infinity.
Even darkness, silence have their wonders, but grasping them seems
impossible. Too much for an earthbound body to bear.