Winter Solstice, 3 poems

December 17th 2025

During the month of November I wrote a poem every day. Here are three that came out of this exercice. Happy solstice!

I. Excavation

I roll up my sleeves and dig
until blood pounds
beneath each fingernail,
hot and tired. I carve out
the shape of myself
and there I am, no cause for surprise
yet it grabs me by the throat
and squeezes. The present moment pounces
if you know how to look.
The panther is always behind something,

knots along a rope
like molten metal once cool,
a feast for the hands. The present moment
is a generous mouth. The corner of
a mouth is a hiding place, one that is impossible
to forget.

At times I can almost disappear,
like the act of posing
a perfect question,
when a child asks why and why and
the hollow answers won’t do,

lingering moths
banging up against glass,
tiny fuzzy footballs –
shake your head and off they go
scurrying around.

II. Blue

I punch you in the stomach
in case
you’re made of flesh this time

A blue comet whispers by
unseen
but faintly overheard

III. Fear of Irrational Numbers

folded over in thirds
and tucked in the box
with the seashells, baby teeth and
bronze metals,
ticket stubs with the ink
blurred out, the ball of clay from
Varanasi. today i want to crack open
your walnut head
spill the contents on my sheets,
watch as they absorb it, and laugh
i want to stuff my face
in your belly and blow hard
i want to hold a handful of your hair and pretend
it’s a chickadee, i want to make fun of
the pythagoreans,
(you have much in common with them)

but you are with the seashells,
baby teeth and bronze metals,
ticket stubs with the ink
blurred out,
folded over in thirds