The Poet's Solstice By David Mitchell Originally published by Motherbird.com Play the poem with music by Andy Derryberry Play the mp3 The oddity of this meandering life Is only emphasized by its failure Of metaphor: the long slow passage From too early autumnal nights, Meager harvests, brief Indian summer Into withering winter, ice in the Marrow, grind of joints too frozen To slide, cheekbones sadder than granite. Others climbed uphill toward the sun, Found basking places, came to rest, But I moved past them, sought glaciers In which to imprison youth, numb its Edges against the pain of will, not yet Tired of boredom as the boon companion Of incarceration, still comforted by the Crack and shatter of sledge on stone. Strange that the wind becomes thinner As oxygen fails, that rainbows survive The heights, not caring the form of water. How could I know life would linger, That in its briefest season The thawing margins of the summit Would reach to plump out scant seed, impel It to seek the source that scented Warmer, still-rising air with the Faint bittersweet of butterfly scales, The pungent tears of spring's first storms. The body faintly wishes to resist this Journey toward gentler repose, but The way lies downward, daisy-marked, Across slopes of talus and scree. The feet already find hewn pebbles that Have rolled this way before me, bearing Faint impressions of decades' labor: A few have been pocketed as keepsakes, Reminders of how little endures. The heart has revived to the point where Milestones are no longer beneath notice: Yesterday I paused at the first and was Struck dumb at finding another's seasons Stitched up and left as a wayfarer's gift: After a night beneath that cloak, I've Shed my tatters and wrapped it about me. It speaks of solace and longing On the road to summer. to David's menu A Poet's Solstice © David Mitchell, All rights reserved Send private comments about this Solstice poem Publisher: dave@artvilla.com Read Poet's Solstice and the Poem Of Every So Often at https://www.artvilla.com