<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class=""><span style="color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">In the Grip of the Solstice</span></div><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35); min-height: 22px;" class=""><br class=""></p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">Feels like a train roaring into night,<br class="">
the journey into fierce cold just beginning.<br class="">
The ground is newly frozen, the crust<br class="">
brittle and fancy with striations,<br class="">
steeples and nipples we break<br class="">
under our feet.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">Every day we are shortchanged a bit more,<br class="">
night pressing down on the afternoon<br class="">
throttling it. Wan sunrise later<br class="">
and later, every day trimmed<br class="">
like an old candle you beg to give<br class="">
an hour’s more light.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">Feels like hurtling into vast darkness,<br class="">
the sky itself whistling of space<br class="">
the black matter between stars<br class="">
the red shift as the light dies,<br class="">
warmth a temporary aberration,<br class="">
entropy as a season.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">Our ancestors understood the brute<br class="">
fear that grips us as the cold<br class="">
settles around us, closing in.<br class="">
Light the logs in the fireplace tonight,<br class="">
light the candles, first one, then two,<br class="">
the full chanukiya.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">Light the fire in the belly.<br class="">
Eat hot soup, cabbage and beef<br class="">
borscht, chicken soup, lamb<br class="">
and barley, stoke the marrow.<br class="">
Put down the white wine and pour<br class="">
whiskey instead.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">We reach for each other in our bed,<br class="">
the night vaulted above us<br class="">
like a cave. Night in the afternoon,<br class="">
cold frosting the glass so it hurts<br class="">
to touch it, only flesh still<br class="">
welcoming to flesh.</p><p style="margin: 0px 0px 6px; line-height: normal; color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class=""><br class=""></p><div style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;" class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="color: rgb(20, 25, 35); white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(20, 25, 35);" class="">- Marge Piercy</span></div></body></html>