A winter solstice poem
So much good arrives
at precisely the worst moments,
though we can’t see it
for the flames, for the seizure,
for the accident, for the illness,
for the unknown thing
that has befallen us.
The way, it turns out,
has been made. Has always
been made for us, even as we lose
our jobs, our minds, our beloveds,
as we see the hands of people
lifting the terrified child from the boat
just traveled over rough seas,
take in the haggard faces of those
and the strangers who emerge
from the darkness bearing
their particular kind of light:
the cup of water, a morsel of food,
a warm blanket, bandages,
medicine for body and soul.
What we don’t see
when something is taken away
is the thing being born underneath,
the new bud on the hibernating
branch. Awash in grief, in pain,
in distress, we forget.
Just wait. Take a breath.
And another. And another.
You’re safe. You’re held.
So much good lies ahead
on this darkest day,
this longest night.
Tomorrow you’ll see
Thanks to Terri Wolf for the prompt that elicited this poem in my writing group the morning of the winter solstice and to the people who come to write with me all year long. Your generous spirits bring light during both difficult and joyous times.
Thanks to fine scenic photographer Joe Chan for allowing me to use his lovely photo. You can see more of his fine work here.