Through the Dark
Yule

The picture book from the library
says people long ago feared
the sun would really never return,
and they burned fires and said prayers
and carried out superstitious rituals
to call it back.
Now, of course, we know better, it says.

It is an absurd arrogance of modernity
to think we invented metaphor
and yet, I dare you
this season
to greet the dark as early as it comes
and let it stay
no light save fire
not just on a holiday apart
but the days before,
when you have things to do
dinner to make
corners to sweep
a report to finish
presents to wrap
a scrawled phone number to decipher
a face whose nuance you are desperate to read.
I dare you to do this without fear
without the rising gray of mid-afternoon dusk
constricting your lungs and tugging
on your eyelashes.
I dare you to do this without a moment of anger
at the tired sun
slipping away without punching your clock
taking color and boundaries with it.

We are not, in the end, nocturnal.

Tell me-
if it is dark when you leave the house
in the morning
and dark when you return
what do you choose then:
numbness or bonfire?
a denial wail of floodlights
or a church full of candles
beseeching?

Even begging can be empowering
if it means you have stopped
pretending you are fine

so beg. Call the sun back
hoot, holler, and cry
admit you need it,
that accurate astronomy has not made you a mole.
Throw another log on the fire.
Ask
and then take sunrise for an answer
for a promise
as old as our dilating eyes:
the worst of the cold is coming
but the light is already on its way back.
It will be slow
but it will be enough.