We answer winter
with more winter
and colder, snow
thicker, days shorter.
Driving north to good
trails, groomed
swerves through groves
of pine and silver birch.
Driving north to hoppy
ales, a wood-burning stove
awakened with iron blow
poke, grey embers flashing
orange, releasing sweet
smoke. We haven’t awakened
anything this year or not
that thing I wanted most.
Someone to keep warm
with these rainbow mittens,
this nubby woollen hat,
ear flaps tied under chin.
Someone to wobble into
that sparkling white field,
follow those hoofprints,
heart-shaped, disappearing
fast beneath clotting flakes.
Catriona Wright is the author of the poetry collection Table Manners and the short story collection Difficult People.
