I thought I knew love in every drag
of the tongue across icing, sparkle

in glaze, thought I went wading
into stars, pulling my dress up

to my knees—I get like this
when it precipitates: fall

like salt. Muscles in my back tear
to the point of floating, bearing

flakes. They come heavy now,
lacking grace, exposing the weight

my collarbones carry. The wind
can only lift so much with its song:

snow is a blessing; its color
amplifies silence, so you can hear

every crunch or offering of self:
a sugar cookie wrapped in napkin.

Alas, all that's here is a field
of snow & a napkin to cleanse

my lips of any leftover sweetness.
I ate that cookie for days, until I fell

brittle. It's the time of year when I sink
into my armchair, into threads

of branches gone bare. It's tough to tell
in this scene if it's birth or dying

time. All I know is it's the season
when wind comes crying, like a baby

whose head knocks a pew during the passing
of the sacrament, that silence—

her long inhale filling with pain.
from the book (AT) WRIST / University of Wisconsin Press
READ ABOUT TODAY'S POEM
Share Share
Tweet Tweet
Forward Forward
Winter is the season of death, and it precedes new life; sometimes a cry or song can be one of sorrow, pain, or grief but often it leads into a new season of life, even one of fear or uncertainty. All the while, we are blessed, though sometimes it's difficult to see.

Tacey M. Atsitty on  "A February Snow"
Poetry Daily yellow inkblot logo
Visit Poetry Daily @ AWP
Booth #1203 

To celebrate AWP 2024, Poetry Daily is giving away two signed broadside editions of Ilya Kaminsky's poem, "A Walking Man."  Drop by our booth today and talk to a Poetry Daily staff member to find out more.  And thank you, as always, for keeping Poetry Daily alive and thriving.
 
Headshot of Sarah Ghazal Ali and Cover of Theophanies
An Interview with Sarah Ghazal Ali

"Theophanies is not an autobiographical account of personal suffering or subjugation. I resent the way I’ve been expected to perform my freedom over the years, in classrooms and in conversations, and so I write poems that practice refusing to do so. If there’s anything I aspired to do with this book as a material object in the world, it’s along the lines of praying. I hope the book is read as beseeching."

viaBOMB
READ ALL TODAY'S HEADLINES
Cover of Smartish Pace
What Sparks Poetry:
Sandra Lim on "Black Box"

"My poem, 'Black Box,' is beguiled by the metaphor of the black box as a way to broach the world, the people around us, and our own hearts. Part of that beguilement also has to do with the very limits of the black box metaphor itself; conceptual orderliness of a certain way of thinking can imprison us in a limiting framework—the black box is itself a black box. One way out of this is to construct more conceptual frameworks with horizons of possibility going far beyond what we hold to be true, or at least, visible."
READ THIS WEEK'S ISSUE
donate
View in browser

You have received this email because you submitted your email address at www.poems.com. 
If you would like to unsubscribe please click here.

© 2024 Poetry Daily, Poetry Daily, MS 3E4, 4400 University Dr., Fairfax, VA 22030

Design by the Binding Agency