Poem: "Doom"

Daylight thinned to beaten copper,
Snow took root in every seam;
Cradles rocked at silence, proper,
Bells forgot their ancient theme—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Fires confessed to ash and slumber,
Ovens whispered, “No more bread.”
Mothers counted, lost the number,
Midwives bowed their weary head—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Gates were hammered, town made smaller;
Watchmen wound the speechless rope.
Maps to summer curled to squalor;
North was ice and south was hope—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Silence learned to echo, hollow;
Footsteps answered, none were near.
Every promise begged to follow;
Every doorway kept a fear—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Names we warmed like coals in hands;
Stories sparked along the line.
Oath by oath we stitched our stand—
You were yours and I was mine—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Carry embers, not illusions;
Set them where the wind can’t pry.
Build our bread with stubborn leaven;
Teach the dark to pass us by—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Cradles learned the winter hush;
Futures folded, neat and small.
Prayers grew careful, near to fall,
Still we answered every call—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Coin-thin sun behind the vapors;
Day a sore that would not close.
Night rehearsed its patient capers;
Frost rehearsed the widow’s pose—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

Take my sleeve and keep it moving;
Take your breath and share it twice.
Winter bargains with our proving—
We will answer with a price—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

If you ask me what is written
In the snow and in the loam:
Not our fate to starve and sicken—
Only this: we walk it home—
Doom we name, not doom we are.

When the tally ends at evening,
When the wind invents a scar,
We are embers, always weaving—
Doom we name, not doom we are.