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Winter a poem by Nina Quigley

Winter

and the planet grieves. Distended

wide-eyed rivers watch

the Earth give up its secrets.

A crop of roadside wreaths

and crosses tells a litany

of violent death. Here the trees

in all their woundedness,

ivy-choked souls, redundant

severed limbs. Here the huddled

blinking homes, blunt-hearted

hedges. There’s word of Christmas,

swathes of moss deck walls and pavements.

Somewhere quietly a door closes,

the dank air smells of exile.

But there’s a warm rush at nightfall

when an unruly tribe of crows

invades the sunset, tearing

the flushed silk of evening sky.

Nina Quigley, December, 2024

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