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Order this writing in
the 2012 Literary
Datebook

where all poems coincide
with a 2012 calendar week!
the 2012 Literary Datebook get the short poem
134 page
6" x 9" ISSN#
spiral-bound book:

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S.A.D.

Christine Reilly

The shortest day in winter followed me around
and wouldn’t leave me alone.
The snow fell, settled, formed a society
on my flesh. The flakes tried to melt the front of my shirt,
wanting me disappearing or naked.
Every year a new one replaced its elder sibling, whispered
things will be different this time around.

My wanderlust was thin, brackish,
easily diffused. I told myself I was going to see the summer solstice.
I never got there, as the crocus belonging
to the shortest day in winter unfurled in my hand —
a piece of bitter electricity in my mouth
filling my insides like the bullets of a warm gun.

Winter slices my year/body into fourths.
Tomorrow the solstice erases itself
again. There can be an anniversary for any day
that I’d like. The solstice’s birthday
is also the anniversary of the day I swore I would
only love things that hurt me



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