By J.J. Tindall
A Mind of Winter
It was written, once,
in America, that
“one must have a mind
of winter…
and have been cold
a long time…
not to think
of any misery”
in the sound
of the frozen land,
the snow-encrusted black boughs,
expressways laced with black ice,
fire-breathing railroad switches,
ceramic images
of Mary and Joseph
calling dibs
on a shoveled-out
parking space.
Indeed!
Misery? Seriously?
Any more so
than any other season?
We have four.
One needs four-
one for each wind-
four each year
to develop
a full, dynamic
personhood, yes?
Adaptive, resourceful,
experienced, enduring;
no particular misery
in the back yard ice-rink,
the slow-cooked gumbo,
the hot apple-cinnamon cider,
the hand-knit scarf,
the TV crime-drama binge.
Piece of cake.
A mind of winter,
a heart of spring,
a soul of summer
and the sweet grieving brow
of early autumn.
Nothing particularly miserable,
nor miserly,
to winter
if you have
a mind of it.
Autumn, really,
should take the rap.
October
is the cruelest month:
the winds cool,
the leaves die
in a final eruption of color,
a last explosion of grace
before the white clouds
of winter’s cold heaven descend.
Heaven! It’s nothing!
Nothing insurmountable, nothing
we can’t skate through.
I can almost hear
the tulips
begin to bloom.
Piece of cake.
–
J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
–
More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on January 13, 2014