Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel
There’s darkness now at three,
the logs will never crackle on her hearth,
she’ll not line up the chestnuts on the grate
or spear a crumpet on a fork to toast.
These are the days my mother couldn’t face,
these the trees she’ll never drag indoors,
these the holly berries rimed with frost.
this the crisp earth cracking underfoot.
I lift the shoe-box fairy from the dark
and peel a tangerine. The first snow falls.
I jab my thumbnail in. That spurt of juice.
December and the kitchen fills with zest.
These dark days I love the most.
From The Stonegate Devil, The Poetry Business
Carole Bromley lives in York where she is the Poetry Society’s stanza rep and also runs monthly poetry surgeries. She is published by Smith/Doorstop and her second collection, ‘The Stonegate Devil’ came out in October. Her website is http://www.carolebromleypoetry.co.uk