Speaking of travel and snowy owls,
white wings of this weather,
the dishwater sky awaiting heavier
clouds than these, another round
of snow; we are pulled into
the polar vortex again and again.
It’s because we’re heating the seas,
making soup out of creatures
we have no interest in eating.
Still, there’s something about
winter again, the real winter,
how it puts you someplace else,
like the inside of a closet, muffled
and warm when your parents are
having a party, and you are a child.
The laughter and the clink of ice,
present, distant. It’s like that,
under winter’s wing—your blood
thick and quiet, hungry for meat.
Check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets every Tuesday p.m.!
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
I have felt what you describe in this poem, both as a child in the closet and an adult under winter’s wing.
That’s great to hear, Ronald! The image took shape as I wrote it, so I’m glad it connected with you.
what a close, Marilyn. I was there, in the memory of clinked glasses, then you unleash the carnivore… whew ~
Thanks, grapeling! Yeah, that carnivore kind of swooped in out of nowhere. It surprised me, too. 🙂
my parents used to have a lot of parties, and I always loved being an invisible observer of all that went on, the clink of glasses, and snatches of conversations, and I like how you likened winter to that, because where there is seemingly endless white and cold, there are things, moments, movements, being present and distant.
Thanks! Were you ever allowed to come in wearing your pajamas to say goodnight? I used to love that. 🙂 Glad this evoked some memories for you, and that you got the association I was getting at.
Brrrr! Precise and chilling. Cozy, then knifey.
I wonder if I can do a cozy poem with no knife in it at all? 🙂
Exactly – you express that love/hate relationship with winter. There is something about that silence, that muffling, that clarity of ice… but oh the numbness!
I love the ending!
you describe those winter-nights with such grace…the nostalgia, the fuzzy warmth…