Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Soul Frost Between Samhain and Solstice
the lungs and rakes the nose raw-
lips red, raggedy, whipped by the wind.
Heat and light flowing from the fire
warms the body, but leaves the soul chilled
the coolness winds around my legs
and, like old ghosts at my feet
coldness settles in the bones
In November, O Sol sets much too early.
The wintery twins Woe and Dysphoria
pull me down and sit on me-
I try to leave them home
where they belong-
but they follow me
Looking down now, my hands
this year, they are
like my mother's hands
dry and cold and
slippery with wear,
i hold them out to the fire
as a kind of offering.