Thursday, December 3, 2009

In Midwinter: An Advent Meditation

Winter sky.

Bare branches

Backs arched up, out.

A cat licking its paws

In the yard next door.

The pink of slave-quarter walls

Made nacreous by failing day.

And I.

What voice sings within me

And in the glory of shifting light

Atop the oak, amidst its limbs?

Why does the common grace

Of closing year

Return me to myself and hope

Amidst the ruins?

Out of the East war threatens.

Westward ride the Horsemen.

And I sit



It's possible I've posted this poem previously on this blog, though a search using Blogspot's search engine for terms included in it isn't turning up any hits. If I have posted the poem before, my apologies for recycling it again. It's in my mind the past few days, following Mr. Obama's war speech. I wrote it in New Orleans as Mr. Bush Ist began the wars in the Middle East.