At Newgrange on the Winter Solstice

By ALLISON FUNK

                in County Meath, Ireland

You must leave everything you’ve carried
      to enter the tomb, says the guide
            pointing to the passage grave

mounded with earth. From outside,
     the tumulus all but obscures
           death’s reach,

also its fruitfulness, which has already
     filled my husband
           with the sweet mystery

that suffused Eurydice. And me—
      why would I want to hurry
           back to the crawlspace

my life has become? I’ve stood
     at this threshold in my mind before,
           imagining, like Rilke,

less loss than release,
      a loosening: long hair poured out
           like fallen rain. Even so,

on the shortest day of the year,
      with winter howling inside me,
           I find myself dazzled

by a shaft of sun on the innermost
      wall of the cairn. Here,
           gone, fast as a firefly.

Light and its innuendos
      hinting there’s more
           for me to see.

 

[Purchase Issue 30 here.]

 

Allison Funk is the author of six books of poems, including The Visible Woman. She has received a Guggenheim Fellowship, as well as an award from the National Endowment for the Arts. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, Paris Review, Scientific American, The Best American Poetry, and elsewhere.

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At Newgrange on the Winter Solstice

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