The Fieldstone Review


There is a kind of rugged yes
required of these winter women
who learn about submission
in standing up
to collaborate with wildness.

We who sacrifice trees daily
to warm our families,
smoke ablutions mingled with light sweat,
regret and necessity,
honouring and willing.

Perfumed girls on beaches
do not hear the same urgency,
the crackle of survival in cold,
footsteps understanding
the value of wool.

It is a heritage of peace-making,
apprenticing to a harsh teacher
finding snatches of warmth,
internal rivers of smiling
when skin is frozen.

And when the sky-blanket
covers us with immaculate intricacy,
warmer than diamonds
and farther removed,
we know our kin dance with us.