Winter Sun

By Molly Fisk b. 1955 Molly Fisk
How valuable it is in these short days,
threading through empty maple branches,
the lacy-needled sugar pines.
Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story
of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.
We can make do with so little, just the hint
of warmth, the slanted light.
The way we stand there, soaking in it,
mittened fingers reaching.
And how carefully we gather what we can
to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.

Poem copyright ©2010 by Molly Fisk from her most recent book of poetry, The More Difficult Beauty, Hip Pocket Press, 2010. Reprinted by permission of Molly Fisk and the publisher.

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Poet Molly Fisk b. 1955


 Molly  Fisk


Born in San Francisco, poet Molly Fisk earned a BA at Radcliffe College/Harvard University and an MBA at Simmons College Graduate School of Management.
In her poems, Fisk probes transitional periods in family life with clarity and wry humor. She is the author of the poetry collections The More Difficult Beauty (2010), Listening to Winter (2000), and Terrain (1998) and a volume of radio essays, Blow-Drying a Chicken: . . .

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Poems by Molly Fisk


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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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