Irene Fick

Winter’s Lonely Witness

I like to be left alone to sort     I begin with the domain
of real things      wander through the pantry    cans
and boxes long past due     so many spices     some

with seals still intact     I move to the closet     lay out
slacks and shirts and skirts in shades of pale gray to black
dark to darkest     now, the linen closet     I toss

old remedies     reminded of the wrongs of the body
ordinary aches that surface in the cold     I cross the hall
enter the office     shred last year’s receipts     pitch

old calendars     I regard my birthday list     delete
those who have died     those now dead to me     I approach
stacks of unfinished poems     all those urgent beginnings

stalled and flatlined     I turn away from the new page
that frozen mass of white space     that demands a walk
through an unwilling wilderness     I recall a different

landscape     another winter     when supper was spread
across the table and we passed the gravied beef
and passed the broccoli casserole on real plates

and talked about our day     I imagine this happened
imagine everyone is still alive     sustained
by winter’s shadows     its faint and mournful pulse

Irene Fick of Lewes, Delaware is the author of The Wild Side of the Window (Main Street Rag)
and The Stories We Tell (Broadkill Press). Both chapbooks received first place awards from the
National Federation of Press Women. Irene’s poetry has been nominated twice for the Pushcart
prize, once for Best of the Net. Her poetry has been published in such journals as Poet Lore,
Gargoyle, The Broadkill Review and Blue Mountain Review.