This week’s new favorite poet got my attention in Column 346 of the American Life in Poetry with her poem
How valuable it is in these short days,
threading through empty maple branches,
the lacy-needled sugar pines.
Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story
of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.
We can make do with so little, just the hint
of warmth, the slanted light.
The way we stand there, soaking in it,
mittened fingers reaching.
And how carefully we gather what we can
to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.
As you saw in my previous poem, Lady of the Angels, I love California and have lived somewhere within it all of my life. And although I have been many places that are cold, my experience with “true cold” is limited.
Molly’s poem gives a wonderful idea of what that is (even though she’s from California too!), especially with her idea of the Winter sun being so rare as to be something that “We can make do with so little, just the hint/of warmth, the slanted light.”
The tone of the poem brought to my mind this Munch painting, the “movie” playing in my head had a similar backdrop:
The full article can be found here.
Molly’s website is www.mollyfisk.com.