The long dance of winter
starts slow as starlight
children stamping hard cold ground
cracking ice over peat
Slipping through fog’s silence
the women have donned heavy antlers
to creep around the trees
circle the swamp
clasp hands and spin
as the sun spins and turns
so do they
Men spurt from the longhouse
Pelts moist with sweat
Leap and cry out
Songs build to a crescendo again and again
until the true sun reveals herself
and we put out our puny fires
sit
eat
laugh
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
I haven’t written a poem imagining our pre-historic ancestors for a long while. Others on this blog can be found at:
https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/01/30/crafty-eyes-see-the-deer-2/
https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/06/22/the-aurochs-and-the-pink/
https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2019/08/07/we-live-on-the-high-ground-2/
