Elizabeth Tibbetts

award-winning poet and professional nurse; Maine and family inspire much of her work


 

Ghazal for the Winter Solstice

 

We approach the solstice, and daylight narrows

into an alleyway between the fortress walls of dawn and dusk.

A skin of ice granulates across the broad lake

where we swam rock to rock in a lavish season.

Those days I was as full of myself as a pomegranate

extravagantly packed with sacs of seeds and juice.

Now I wait for the blank page of snow-covered field

and the story written by turkey and fox, rabbit and deer.

Even at midday, the sun hangs just above the tree-line

and washes the lawn with thin light. Shadows come into season.

When it seemed there was little left but ice and bones,

I dreamed a river, blue-black moving water, from some unbidden source.

Wind rises in a cold breath between the lines—listen

it hisses. And it whistles through the crack beneath the door.