Winter Solstice by Paul Bluestein

What can you do

on the darkest night

of your darkest year?

How do you put to rest

the days that tripped you

and made you fall down,

breaking your body and your spirit?

 

Gather the appointment reminders,

laboratory reports

and the well-meaning,

clumsy sympathy cards.

Tear them up

and from the fragments,

fashion a giinquq mask,

a face, but not a face.

Make it fierce and scarred from battles,

to tell the passing year that

you are not afraid of it -

that you are reclaiming the power

it tried to take from you.

Then, when the old year has shrunk back,

unnerved by your resolve,

burn the mask and warm your hands

over the fire you have created.

even though there are tears in your eyes

from the smoke.

Paul Bluestein is a physician (done practicing), a blues guitar player (still practicing) and a dedicated Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He currently lives in Connecticut with his wife and the two dogs who rescued him. Nearby, there is a beach where he can let my mind off the leash to go where it wants. He is grateful that, thus far, it has always come back, sometimes with an interesting idea in its jaws.