Love Songs in Winter

By TESS TAYLOR

 

I.

At the end of the pier,
light on a rocking boat.

We walked away from land
and our rented cottage.

Beneath us the planks groaned.
I heard myself speaking love words:

Vowels floated
over the smack-putt of water:

We went on walking.
There was nothing to do but approach.

II.

By the river on the artificial island
I led you to a downed tree.
The twisted elm upended
in some winter storm.

Underneath, where roots had been
soil like cinnamon,
a cavern studded with seashells, tailings, decay.
From the rooted part

new spears grew. In the iron light,
mercurial, shifting with March,
they glinted black
then shone red, like a wound.

III.

I took you to the summer-house.
I took you in January.

A tree had fallen on the power lines.
Our heat and pipes were off.

The light was as I’d never seen it, lavender
over barnacled dinghies.

Winter colors torqued off kilter.
Emeralds glowered. The sea was orange sherbet.

In the house, everything was boxed—
silverware in baggies, platters wrapped,

towels mothball-packed away.
Still we lit the brass lamp in the bedroom.

I struck the gas and roasted you a chicken.
I served you wine and oranges.

And underneath the quilts that night,
I tossed, dreaming of mice

nesting in the unstrung double bass.
I felt the brewing storm.

In the dark you came to my doorstep:
The door flapped in the wind.

Although you slept beside me,
you were outside. You could not get in.

 

 

Tess Taylor is the author of the chapbook The Misremembered World, published by the Poetry Society of America, and The Forage House (forthcoming).

Click here to purchase Issue 03

Love Songs in Winter

Related Posts

cover of HEIRLOOM

March 2025 Poetry Feature: Catherine-Esther Cowie’s Heirloom

CATHERINE-ESTHER COWIE
Her eye-less eye. My long / longings brighten, like tinsel, the three-fingered / hand. Ashen lip. To exist in fragments. / To exist at all. A comfort. / A gutting. String her up then, / figurine on the cot mobile. / And I am the restless infant transfixed.

Dispatches from Mullai Nilam, Marutha Nilam, and Neithal Nilam

VIJAYALAKSHMI
There is fire everywhere, / both inside and outside. / Unaware of the intensity of the fire, / they maintain silence / like the serenity of a corpse. / From the burning fire / bursts out a waterfall tainted in red. / All over the shores have bloomed / the flaming lilies of motherhood.

Gray Davidson Carroll's headshot next to the cover of The Common Issue 28.

Podcast: Gray Davidson Carroll on “Silent Spring”

GRAY DAVIDSON CARROLL
Poet Gray Davidson Carroll speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about their poem “Silent Spring,” which appears in The Common’s fall issue. Gray talks about poetry as a way to witness and observe the world and how we experience it, and how it’s changing.