I had a brief visit to the US last week to visit my daughter, and with it a brief reminder of what winter feels like. I found this poem saved in my "Poems" folder in my email. I got it in the Poem-a-Day email from Poets.org back in July, but it's much more appropriate for February.
People in Bemidji, Minnesota, or Chicago, Illinois, hold on! The sun will be back!
The Sun in Bemidji, Minnesota
The sun isn’t even a pearl today—
its light diffused, strained gray
by winter haze—this the grayest
day so far, so when I enter the Wells
Fargo parking lot the last thing I expect
is to see the sun in the car next to mine.
I watch a woman make out with the sun,
and I’m jealous of the sun. Beautiful
beyond her desire—wanting the sun
so—she almost glows as she tugs
sweetness from his whiskers with
her teeth, and his drool runs down
her chin. I think the sun is a man,
but it’s hard to tell in this light. No,
it’s a mango, and I’m jealous of her.
(If you go to this link at Poets.org and click on "More" in the top left hand corner of the white space, you can read what Sean Hill wrote about this poem and how he came to write it.)
Here's today's roundup.
33 minutes ago