Winter Solstice 2002 Poem
LONG NIGHT
It's been a long night
and now that we're adding blue
back into the palette, now that we're
—oh—managing to understand
how it is with light, why it betrays us
each afternoon only to come blushing
back innocently with jasmine petal
softness, its tender hubs of automobiles
painted dusty rose. Now that
we've given up on stability, restlessness,
motion sickness, it fills our laps
with mulberries and international
air mail coupons and small chubby
fingers held aloft in artless greed
as if the moon were a rattle drifting down
into our hands and the stone horizon plenty
rapture.
Copyright ©2002 Theresa Whitehill, all rights reserved
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