HUNKERED DOWN

Another shiver of morning –
this house built for pioneers,
for shelter, not comfort –
they knew then what was crucial.

I’ve learned: layers and wood fires,
hot coffee, soup – learned
the language of resilience.

Dawn slinks along an icy roof,
flares in the firs’ glinting, sequined limbs
makes a thin promise to flattened grass:
maybe this afternoon.

Summer’s warmth a dim memory,
I curl up with the cat, set aside lists,
the anxious, eager yearning towards spring;
sit and watch the “nothing” of winter
the moth-gray and bronze sparkle
of this frost-bound day.

Nothing has something for me
but I’ve forgotten how to ask. 
I cling to names, to maps
and travel logs.
I am the frost, fearing to wink out
the sun’s embrace;
fearing erasure
in any still moment.

Catherine McGuire is a writer/artist with a deep concern for our planet’s future, with five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book,  Elegy for the 21st Century, a SF novel, Lifeline and book of short stories, The Dream Hunt and Other Tales. Find her at http://www.cathymcguire.com