
Winter Bleak by Frank McMahon
Fire spark and sputter in the pit of winter,
in the deep nocturnal terminus
between harvesting and sowing.
Each day, hunt in the fields and woods,
until the time to slaughter a beast,
feast and fill the moon-flecked hours
with ale and mead, open up
the story hoard, the epic journeys
of gods and heroes, warriors and mythic beasts;
bowls of words spiced, refilled,
passed from lip to ear, carried outside
to catch the dancing of the stars.
*
Then the crabbed months of counting stores,
eking out on longer nights
the small essential change
of what grew well or failed,
the seasons’ mutability, burials and births,
the enduring sub-text
of fear and aspiration. Until longer nights
when speech is locked in frozen ponds
and a sort of sleep, alert for the dog’s alarm,
the musky scent of wolves.
