We Are Not Winter People
By Mark Marony
We are not winter people.
Occasionally,
optimistic nostalgia
drives us out into the northern clime
to ski or skate or
walk hand in hand.
But soon, through cloudy puffy breaths,
we remember:
we are not winter people.
We are lovers of sun
and seventeen hour days.
We are porch dwellers.
We are backyard brick oven chefs.
We are sculptors of dark sweaty dirt
and poets of things that are green.
We are not winter people.
Tonight,
as ravenous winds
consume our house
with the weight of ice and darkness,
we will break saltine crackers
into steaming bowls of corn chowder
made from frozen bags of last year’s harvest.
We will decide which annuals
to plant in the spring
and how soon to start the tomatoes.
No, we are not winter people.
By Mark Marony
We are not winter people.
Occasionally,
optimistic nostalgia
drives us out into the northern clime
to ski or skate or
walk hand in hand.
But soon, through cloudy puffy breaths,
we remember:
we are not winter people.
We are lovers of sun
and seventeen hour days.
We are porch dwellers.
We are backyard brick oven chefs.
We are sculptors of dark sweaty dirt
and poets of things that are green.
We are not winter people.
Tonight,
as ravenous winds
consume our house
with the weight of ice and darkness,
we will break saltine crackers
into steaming bowls of corn chowder
made from frozen bags of last year’s harvest.
We will decide which annuals
to plant in the spring
and how soon to start the tomatoes.
No, we are not winter people.
New Hampshire Writers Poetry
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