One Mid-November Monday temperatures hovered around freezing. Dusk pulled up its blanket as rain fell then froze to trees as Arctic air swept in. Limbs groaned with burden. Victims’ cracks and crashes echoed outside of the house, and the earth vibrated with their landing — the equivalent of an earthquake in Michigan.
The old willow lost another limb, downing the power line again. All went dark and silent except for an expletive. She threw another log on the fire and lit candles throughout the house.
Then she heard a prying sound in the attic with a deep voice she recognized calling, “Hello, Lisa! Did you miss me?”
Cell phone in pocket and a cat under either arm, she went to her sanctuary, dialed 9-1-1, spun the cylinder on the Magnum, clicked it shut, and waited. If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant.
Victoria is today’s host of dVerse. Victoria says:
Today, I’d like to introduce you to one of my favorite poets. Jane Kenyon was born in 1947 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She grew up in the Midwest of the United States but eventually lived out the remainder of her life in New Hampshire, married to fellow poet Donald Hall. Her poetry is immersed in her environments and in the small or not-so-small realities of daily life. It has been described as simple, spare and emotionally resonant. Jane succumbed all too young to Leukemia in 1995. She was 47 and, at the time, Poet Laureate of New Hampshire.
[Y]ou must include the following phrase from Kenyon’s poem, “Taking Down the Tree”:
If it’s darkness
we’re having, let it be extravagant.
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