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Inside the dead of winter Curls a fiery soul A little bear that sleeps defiant Waiting out the cold. She does not let it press her Or file down her teeth, The wind of sorrow whipping ‘round Is flummoxed by the beat The steady, measured beat Of a soul crouched for the thaw - A soul with wherewithal. The snow intones a chant, a curse And drifts down in layers deep, It wants to choke It wants to damn The soul to darkened sleep. It comprehends too late, As it trusts grief’s gravity, That the little bear has prepared For this very thing. She’d swallowed embers in the summer, And fireflies in fall, To keep her soul e’er burning Inside Depression's squall. And when springtime rears its roses, And the wind softens for the bees, The soul, she wakes her willpow’r, And rises with the green. About the author:
Emmie Christie’s work includes practical subjects, like feminism and mental health, and speculative subjects, like unicorns and affordable healthcare. She has been published in various short story markets including Ghost Orchid Press, Infinite Worlds Magazine, and Flash Fiction Online. She graduated from the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2013. You can find her at www.emmiechristie.com.
2 Comments
Deana Smith
25/9/2025 05:06:55 pm
These beautiful words and the images they convey provide a personal peek into the complexity of grief.
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Daniel
25/9/2025 06:24:57 pm
Beautiful and empowering poem about depression. I'll have to remember and bring this back out as the days get colder and darker over the next handful of months
Reply
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