Longing (let's play with contrasts)

Longing

The stripe between snow
and sky
is fire red
and rising,
but the amaryllis
is darkening,
dropping petals
onto the desk
where I sit—
warm,
inches away
from the frigid teeth
of winter wind.

Everywhere,
there is heat and decay. 
Everywhere,
the cold returning of light. 

It’s a mother’s spoon,
the time-bound mind. 
Bringing milk then meat
a bite at a time. 
It’s a soft blanket,
the swaddle of sequence and
seasons, though I try
to kick my legs and
flail my fists
in the colicked cry for more—
or less—
or both—
or I don’t know.

Is it the cold I long for?
Is it the heat?
Is this my youngest part?
Is it my wisest? That cries out
and tips side to side
to capsize the cradle, 
as if I could
peel back from the line
traced by time
across my perception.
  
I want to feel it. 
I want to know
the frigid burning,
the dark red
rising dropping truth
of everything
at once. 

Photo by Andrea Boudrias on Unsplash

The Prompt

Winter is a season of contrasts. There is the cold, white world on one side of my window and the warmth of a woodstove, a heat pump, blankets, and hoodies on the other. I bundle in layers when I step outside, then strip down to a tank top and leggings as soon as I walk through the doors of the climbing gym. It’s always a sweaty surprise to approach the exit at the end of a workout and remember that it’s winter still.

There is the slow patience of trees, content to rest for a season, content to strip down to the bare essentials, and there is the chronic hustling, juggling, and accumulating that surrounds us (or swirls within us)—the choreography of capitalism and consumerism.

What contrasts do you notice in your own life right now? What contrasts live between the world outside your window and the world inside your home? What contrasts tug or pull or enliven the edges between the world inside your mind and heart and the world beyond? What conflicts or debates play out between discordant parts of your supposedly solitary self? Take a few moments to feel into these edges. Notice whether they are soft or sharp. Whether they are a source of relief or a source of overwhelm, a source of beauty or a source of pain. Perhaps they are all of these.

What poem wants to rise to the surface as you sit with these contrasts, these edge places?

As always, I look forward to reading your poems and reflections in the comments thread! Truly, your generous engagement and soulful poetry has become a beautiful bright spot that illuminates my days—even the dark ones.