Winter’s Wing

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.

 

 

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11 thoughts on “Winter’s Wing

  1. 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.

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