Rockland, Maine

Danielle Walczak

 

When the power goes you learn

pretty quickly where the candles are.

 

Everyone looks up

snow people become sources of strength

you find extra blankets.

 

Recently, I’ve noticed how hard it is to stand up straight

when no one is watching.

 

At night, winds become battle cries and I

shiver like the leafless branches clanging together

holding tight until the sun rises.

 

I am quiet in my triumphs.

 

I whisper my desires to the ocean rocks

jagged in structure but smooth to touch.

 

Loons approach the icy water as an escape

and this I cannot fathom.

 

Now, driving past 4 p.m. telephone posts look like ghosts

I wonder how many once were trees.

 

Knit me a hat and call me December

the wood is brittle and salty; the stars are bright if you

look in the right places.

 

The difference in color between branches and sky

is subtle, but I never was.

 

The jays are screaming

the conifers are within me.

 

In a few months the temperature will be the same but

we will drop our layers and dance in its warmth.

 

I want to open my ribcage so the world can jump in.

 

But this is a quiet poem, and so am I.