Still Life in January

January stuns me:

Its untrammeled light through taupe & leafless

tree branches. Those harsh blue-greys  &

cyanotype snowflakes. 

Holidayless holy days sweeping around the high chair,

on repeat, watering the pothos, drinking stout.

There are no mocktails or diets. No resolutions.

When I lift my busy baby, I imagine angel cake

frosted with cinnamon cream & pears for her first birthday: 

it comes with early March crocuses & daffodils.

Winter means browsing seeds & shoots, daydreams of 

foxglove days these snow days and my husband is snowed in

but still on the computer. Strange phone calls. Shovelling,

again, laundry & mashed potatoes. 

Plastic dragons on the Persian rug. Unloading the dishwasher.

Deleting emails: a hotel I stayed at once in upstate New York 

is raising money for their tulip tree, & the opera wants money too,

& my Chinoiserie pasta bowls have shipped, 

& I need to try this chai hot chocolate recipe,

& here are five tips for new parents to have a love life,

& my pilates booking is confirmed, & do I want a second look at lipstick

& rose perfume & yoga mats & that Corriedale wool cardigan from Ireland?

& I try to write a poem but the blue light hurts my eyes,

& I can’t find my pen, & my baby has unravelled the toilet paper, again,

& she wants up, up! Up! & there is still life in January.

Emily Bulicz-Arnelien