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Winter Journal Poetry

By Sherilyn Stevenson

The Field Is White By Kelly Burdick   Oh Lord, your field is lacking definition, her edges white and softened under snow, all harshness smoothed and flattened in submission, though still you’re sending flakes. Just so you know, I’m curled inside, my roof collecting cold that’s meant for me. Instead, I’m warm and near a …

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Perceiving

By Megan Wilcox Goates

My doctor occasionally asks me about my exercise patterns. The occupational therapist and I frequently discuss my seven-year-old’s behavior patterns. The internet keeps an eye on my online shopping patterns, and then floods me with ads for (currently) swimsuits and YA fiction. My phone keeps a tally of my screen-time patterns (which I don’t want …

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In The Bleak

By Heather Harris-Bergevin

In the bleak Midwinter, we do our dishes, and our laundry, pray to our god, and wait patiently for the arrival of the new sun. Our ancestors sat beside their fires, trapped by more than hoarfrost, thinking. It is time for something new, teaching the children something kinder than mere survival, in the midst of …

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Grape Hyacinth

By Sarah Colby

On summer evenings my father matches his stride to my small steps and we walk to the garden and to you, dense, luminous flowers he planted just for me. I know all the purple twilight shadows are your doing.  They creep from under your green, leaves flow across the grass, slide up the foothills, coax …

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Surprise: I miss winter

By Shelah Miner

IMG_1006Usually, by the time March rolls around, I am ready to shed my skin. After months of running in subzero temps, my hide is literally chapped.

Usually, but the time March rolls around, I’m eager to welcome daylight savings time, because it means that the snow might finally melt.

Usually, by the time March rolls around, I’m hoping that the grass might make an appearance before school gets out, that I might be able to cross the back yard on the way to the chicken coop without slipping and sliding, that I might not have to buy another case of handwarmers from Costco.

I know that those of you in the East and South have been dumped on this winter. I’ve watched the news and seen all of your photos on Instagram. I know most of you are still shivering in your Uggs. But here in the west, the daffodils are in bloom, my skin is nice and soft, and my three-year-old begged to turn on the sprinkler this afternoon.

I hate it. Hate, hate, hate it.

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You and I Were the Angels

By Darlene Young

Our song was the lightning. We sang dazzling bright. To the prickling stars, to the sparkling air. Does music remind you of that diamond night? Though not yet embodied, we sang spirit light, Sang with the thrumming that quickened the air Our song was the lightning. We sang dazzling bright. We gave dancing voice to …

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Silent Season

By Krista Clement

this day in bleak midwinter. gray sky wraps earth with angel sleeves and snow drops heavily onto soot singed drifts. we are tired, you and I. a train mourns distance. twilight seeps into tree bones— obscures the falling sky. the kitchen waits unswept and cold. you hold me close. we burrow into blankets like two …

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