Santa Lucia poems

I mentioned Saint Lucy's Day to Marie, and explained that the Swedes say it is the darkest night of the year. (And in fact, before they shifted to the Gregorian calendar it would have aligned with the Winter Solstice.) I even told her something about how they celebrate it in Sweden, although I'm pretty sure I haven't told her the story of my evening with Lilliana. Anyway, it clearly made her think about the day, the weather, and any portents that might shine forth from the one or the other. And today, a week later (or almost) she sent me this:


The Eve of Santa Lucia

Full moon tonight.
Cold moon, bitter moon,
some have called it,
but I hope for grace:
a night of pure light
at the dark center of the year,
as the days spiral downwards,
closing in.

But the sky is clouded,
obscured;
there is no light save what we furnish.
So we light guttering candles,
So we string lines of color against the darkness,
So we strew cheap tinsel
to bring light where there is none.


I read this while I was still at work. And I liked it -- of course, I like any poems she sends me -- but I really couldn't think of anything to say back. Later tonight, as I sat in bed drinking and postponing actual sleep, I read it again. I thought about the implicit complaint that she looks for grace, for light, in the world but finds only the light we create. The world itself is dark and it is up to us to do something about it. Or not.

And as I thought about that lament I opened a text file on my phone, and the following answer came to me almost (not quite) as fast as I could type it. (Also I have since then changed one word at Marie's suggestion.)


The little lights hang in electric strands
On trees bedecked with tinsel and with trim.
Bright neon is the work of human hands
To shine when night is foggy, dark, and grim.

The year, just like the day, has its dark night,
When all is bleak and frozen and forlorn.
We hope to see a sign, a flash of light,
But there’s only what we make, till spring is born.

But it was ever thus. For long ago,
When Saint Lucia’s Night and solstice came,
We’d huddle in the dark, against the snow,
And build a bonfire fierce with ruddy flame.

And from that man-made fire that burned so bright,
We drew the hope to stand against the night.


Sleep well, you all.