a season of dead, of dying


That winter is not permanent is a blessing, so the world

mourns only a little.  Crocuses push up their purple tongues

in snow, small omens of spring….

…………………………………………………When the sun

appears, I emerge, dusting words from my hair, reborn.


Post Updated 12/19/10:  I have done some work on this piece in order to submit it. If you didn’t get a chance to read it, please email me and I would be happy to share it with you!


(This was written in response to a prompt at Big Tent Poetry which references Marvin Bell’s Dead Man poems.  Although I did not really feel like following his form, thinking about being a “dead woman” led me to reflect on the apathy brought on by winter and one of the ways I combat it – by writing.)


17 thoughts on “a season of dead, of dying

  1. This is just lovely. I specially like: ‘When the sun

    appears, I emerge, dusting words from my hair, reborn.’

    I like the winter a bit – more time to write, and because it kills garden pests, though I resent being cabined, coralled and cut off by snow.

  2. Really like the fact that you took the prompt to your own chosen destination. That is a sign of genuine creativity. And although, I too, find winter a time of words, I hunker down but also dream of warmth and sunshine.


  3. Thanks, all, for reading. Gautami, you mention the linebreaks – the structure was created using an exercise that will be featured on January 1st weekly in my new blog feature, Poetry Tow Truck, which will feature prompts and craft exercises. Stop back in a couple of weeks to get the full story!

  4. I love this piece – it speaks to me through the gray and frigid days of dark. I yearn for the tongue of a sweet crocus. I’ll watch for your new blog feature. Oh, so much to learn.

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