by Maryella Desak Sirmon

Two weeks ago, the moon was a hoary scimitar
rising at noon, setting at midnight, chased
by Orion, as he stalked winter’s somber sky,
and daylight of ordinary time dissipated.

Not yet morning, dawn rouses, sighs,
shakes first frigid rays over the eastern horizon
as the last full moon before December solstice
sets in the western heavens.

I crunch a path through frost-capped grass
and dead congealed leaves, then pause…
inhale icy bitter breath, exhale shivery smoke,
and join nature in radical waiting.

Maryella Desak Sirmon is a wife, mother, physician, and poet.  She serves as Chalice Bearer and Lector in her church. Much of her work has been scribbled at odd hours on paper scraps found in the pocket of a white coat. She has an abiding interest in the world we live in, the stories we tell each other, and the art of medicine. Her poetry and essay have been published in The Annals of Internal Medicine, The Oracle Fine Arts Review, October Hill Magazine, Pulse – Voices of Medicine, The Poet, Deep South Magazine, Delta Poetry Review and three anthologies. Her work has been reprinted in This Side of Doctoring and The Arduous Touch. She has work forthcoming in The Annals of Internal Medicine and a fourth anthology, The America Collection.