And Leave Us to Ourselves - Oct 6 2026

 

And Leave Us to Ourselves 

Oct 6 2026



Spring back, fall ahead.

An hour of extra light

or less

depending on when

the powers that be determine.

Of course, it’s all léger de main

  — a trick of the hour hand,

like a coin behind the ear,

a vanished card

that reappears.

I like the dark.

I am wintry, sepulchral, tenebrous,

hunker, lurk

seek refuge.

I migrate to the sunless hour, cower in the light,

inhabit long dark nights

and estivate in summer.

The change is late this year.

Twilight softens the world

as the dregs of dusk persist,

darkness doesn’t fall

when I feel it should.

Some day, the clock will be fixed.

The spare hour will not shift,

and the arbitrary rule 

no longer be contested

by nighthawks and morning people.

As if there was such a thing as extra light.

As if the sun could be fooled

the earth paused

by a simple act of law.

It took about an hour

to write this rough draft.

Late, but long enough

to safely open the blinds;

for the light to fade

the day recede

my eyes mercifully rest.

Daylight savings time 

is like an unwanted guest 

who outstays her welcome while I force a smile,

sipping her tea

while telling the same old stories

or asking me to pick a card.

Please go, I think, while the light is good

and leave me and the night to ourselves.

Actually, although I’m as night-hawkish as they come, I’m enjoying the extra hour of evening light this fall. But it feels like it’s too late in the season for the clocks not to have changed. So I checked, and Nov 1 seems to me to be the latest ever for DST to end. No?  

This time of year, there’s a distinct quality to the evening light: it seems thin, washed-out, more transparent. And when there’s this kind of cold (our winters come early!), it seems incongruous for it to persist so late in the day.

So clock conventions, light and dark, and day/night have been on my mind. This is certainly not the first time I’ve written about my preference for darkness, night, and cold weather:  the intimacy and privacy of darkness; the energization of cold; and the bracing adversity of winter.

I usually quite consciously avoid using “big” words. I think they interrupt the reader’s flow, make her pause in order to process meaning. (Or worse, stop and look them up!) I want a poem to enter into consciousness the way music does — directly and unmediated:   visceral, not intellectual; felt, not analyzed. Words shouldn’t act as speed bumps. So I apologize for tenebrous, estivate, and sepulchral. A small indulgence. I like the sound and precision of these words here. And perhaps my reluctance underestimates my reader. Words also have a certain “mouth feel”. Ideally, poetry is recited. It’s written to be heard at the pace of human speech.  But even when you read it in your head, your mouth silently forms the words. Often, I’ll choose one word over another equally good one just for this reason. “Mouth feel” is part of the aesthetic pleasure of language.

I personified DST as a “her”. No reason. Perhaps the later light seems to have a more feminine energy. Or perhaps I prefer female company!  I’m also old school. My pronouns are binary. I find the singular “they” confusing. It would be better if we could invent a brand new word.