January/ poem by Mary Beth Hines

January

Rain spills
from slate
sky, freezes.

We listen
from inside 
where safety lies

in numbers. 
We are three
tonight, huddled

brothers brave 
beyond our 
boyhood might.

We watch 
the way the ice
encases claws

of winter
trees until
they bend 

as if for blessing 
on skinny,
quaking knees.

/////


Mary Beth Hines is a frequent contributor to Lightwood. Read more of her poems and reviews by going to our Search Button and inserting her name.

Mary Beth Hines writes from her home in Massachusetts. A Pushcart nominee in both poetry and fiction, she is an alumna of the Colrain Manuscript Conference and a recipient of an Assets for Artists workshop residency at the Studios at MASS MoCA. Her work can be found in journals such as Brilliant Flash Fiction, Slant, Tar River, and Valparaiso as well as in Lightwood. Kelsay Books published her debut collection “Winter at a Summer House” in 2021. Her chapbooks were finalists in Fool for Poetry’s 2023 International Chapbook Competition and Comstock Review’s Jessie Bryce Niles 2023 Chapbook competition. Visit her at www.marybethhines.com.