It’s cold in Seattle today, ya’ll. Here’s a poem about winter. Winter People It snowed and slowly I awoke, slowly I remembered that I was born a winter person, born for adapting. I remember now, that I have few but vital knowings: How to Protect from the Wind, How to Keep the Blood Warmed in Freezing Conditions. How to adapt my eyes to the dimness, how to become, in fact, intolerant of light. And my essential nature--how my skin shrinks from the breath of the sun. How I was born fighting against the elements, how it changes you when you’re delivered at birth into the shock of chill wind and deep frozen white, when you must choose early and wisely your methods of survival, when you are weaned on tales of frostbite and the lengths others before you have gone to keep from dying of cold. It changes you, to know that you must always carry with you the tools of survival: Matches in a waterproof tin. A blade with which to stab your prey. A fur to protect the heart. And of course, the dexterity to build a fire in the wilderness, in the dead of winter, everything hostile and incurably damp.
A very moving poem, Kristen. The last poem you published here with a reference to the book it is in, lead me to my local bookshop!
Thank you, Kristen. Tis beautiful.
Beautiful language.