by Christine Swanberg
When the world is a black and white photo,
and all the trees are defined like bare bones,
as a snow-ladened pine makes a grotto,
the winter wind whips, whimpers, and moans.
Then we rest inside near hearths, unencumbered.
We kindle the fire, turn inward desire
to things long forgotten, now remembered.
And if we might ask what this day might require,
the answer may be sublime or serene:
a closet or book, a movie or nook,
a project put off, some silver to clean,
or perhaps something delicious to cook.
You must find something so good to savor
if you want to stay in winter's favor.
Winter's Favor first appeared in WILD FRUITION: SONNETS, SPELLS, and OTHER
INCANTANTIONS, Puddin' head Press, Chicago.