The Unseason

by Indira Sinton

 

retreat now

to a tangled scattered place

 

autumn is over

winter is not yet

 

it is the unseason

 and most are afraid to journey

 

when you arrive

you’ll be alone

 

all the tourists will be gone

 

breathe in

crisp northern air

and

listen to crackling leaves

 as they crumble blithely  

to a new existence

 

tear off some clothes and celebrate

 

be a naked deciduous branch

 

absorb the cold

 

write a poem

about

thick dry wild plants

restless and intelligent

not doped

by sunshine

not sleeping yet

under snow that will come

 

stand

and stretch -

into a

deep purple

evening sky

(an unsky)

 

behold the moon

 

the shadows of small creatures will dance at your feet

and winds will brush against your skin

or howl with delight at their beauty and yours

 

lie down anywhere

and sink into a twilight slumber

 

perhaps you will dream

you are a gold-red needled tamarack

 

when you

wake up

remember your dream

 

also remember your poem

 

focus

on the gentle voices

of breezes and waters and rustling sticks

 

they will tell you secrets

about yourself

and

in the unseason

these soft articulations are

most honest

 

 

Copyright ©1998 Indira Sinton

 

Originally Published in Georgian Bay Today