Winter in Mt. Auburn Cemetery
The linen-colored light spreads through the great
mortified fingers of the European Beech.
When what has been given away does not return,
light reflects from the gravestones, as if they were stars.
Think of all the people this landscape has taken
into its mouth and held like wafers of dust
And yet it aches with want. Like people gone blind.
But in this pain there is silence, occasional
flutter of blackbirds, the sky an exacting shell of blue.
This poem is from the book More Feathers in the Lake Than Swans by Meg Tyler (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/more-feathers-in-the-lake-than-swans-by-meg-tyler/
The aftermath of a death is central to the unfolding in More Feathers in the Lake Than Swans. And yet the poems are not made too heavy by grief. Unspeaking light and pattern shape them, along with love of the world that “holds you captive each night/ when the light has long given out.” With bird song, the lapping of water against the shore, More Feathers in the Lake Than Swans does more than keep “the noise of the artificial world/ at bay.” It shows us a way to transform loss into a find.
The Paddock Review 