It is the longest day of the year.
Or the shortest night.
(You died once.
It was the coldest darkest day of the year.)
Although summer is everywhere,
stretching long into the night,
I still hold winter inside me,
ice in my veins, freezing my womb.
This heat betrays you, my darling.
I eclipse the sun.
(Shield your eyes from me.
Do not burn them on my anger.)
My lumbering body moves in front of the fire,
blotting out the warmth of tomorrow,
making a sliver of time.
The children shiver under their blankets.
I have lived another impossible season.
(It is not easy to live without you.
I work hard at it.)
I once thought a night would never end.
And then I wanted it back for just a moment.
Summer solstice is just another long day
you will not see.
about the poem.
In Angie's words, "My daughter Lucia Paz died on Winter Solstice 2008. Every solstice and equinox I mark the passage of time since my daughter's death."
about the contributor.
Angie is the editor of still life 365. Her second daughter Lucia was stillborn after 38 weeks of pregnancy. She writes about her experience with grief and mothering at still life with circles.