Winter Solstice

I dread dark-closet mornings,

cold feet in sloughing slippers,

thinning robes from Christmas past.

I stumble, squint to find the switch

that turns on a fluorescent dawn,

wander to the window,

feel the snow, its weight upon the trees,

feel the horsetail wind

fly off the roof to sting my cheeks.

I close my eyes, cover dark with dark,

dream a sun-path on the kitchen floor,

a yellow road like Oz to lead me

barefoot to sweet tea and sand.

I picture the azalea bush ablaze,

blooms redder than a cardinal’s wing,

dogwoods, baby blanket colors

crocheted creamy yellow, white.

I long for days

when skies stay bright until I sleep,

and morning is a lyric light sings.

— Sarah Edwards

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