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About this Poem 

"This poem takes its title from the beginning of Hawthorne's 'Blithedale Romance,' after a snowstorm and before a drowning. I was compelled to think about the apt description offered of both writing and living, insofar as both take place in a kind of constant present-tense stretching out from our cold and frozen shared cosmological origins, toward the vastness of futurity and we-don't-know-what. This liminal indeterminacy has implications both terrifying and exhilarating, and this poem revels in the latter briefly, the opportunity to maybe forget history for a moment, watch the wind blow off towers in the mean time, maybe have a drink, which, at least in certain moments, can seem like quite the warm proposal indeed."
—Eryn Green

Past Inclemency & Present Warmth

Eryn Green

It was
 
time that was
 
the tenderness—eden, as it is
 
       in need of
 
and tolerating no history—thus no tracks
 
of conventionalism in our shared patched boot
 
and oversoul pasts—just new snow, crossed through
 
like uncommon winter birds do—making paths invisible
 
but to few
 
—
 
But too few
 
continue—I've started to
 
think differently of nests
 
needs and webs. It's inevitable
 
I guess—& yet resplendent
 
isn't it? Always
 
a shocking testament
 
to what? Home? I don't know
 
how paradise found its parade
 
but I love it—patterns in steam
 
spinning off the Tivoli 
 
brewing tower yesterday—eye beams 
 
       into steel
 
                      greylit grey
 
    glisten      glistening

Copyright © 2014 by Eryn Green. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on March 28, 2014. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Eryn Green