by James Rolfe, poem - Amanda Jernigan 

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by Amanda Jernigan

My little lack-of-light, my swaddled soul,

December baby. Hush, for it is dark,

and will grow darker still. We must embark

directly. Bring an orange as the toll

for Charon: he will be our gondolier.

Upon the shore, the season pans for light,

and solstice fish, their eyes gone milky white,

come bearing riches for the dying year:

solstitial kingdom. It is yours, the mime

of branches and the drift of snow. With shaking

hands, Persephone, the winter’s wife,

will tender you a gift. Born in a time

of darkness, you will learn the trick of making.

You shall make your consolation all your life.