The Sun Stands Still At Midnight Poem by Krista TaltsNassehi

The Sun Stands Still at Midnight

The equator rolls.
The earth quivers.
The sun stands still
at midnight.

Bonfires haze on fragrant
hills, people touch
and bend, look into the
sky like pink and blue wildflowers
in the summer wind and twirl
in dancing bonfire shadows,
and dance to delirium.

Frayed ropes dangle a grey
swing from an old oak branch.

A garlanded child
pumps plump legs.
Swings higher and
higher
and
even
higher.


Low clouds birth witches
waiting for the predawn
hours to let loose their
spirit horses as night,
hungry for darkness
rattles its bones in long
grasping shadows.

The child on the swing sees
a distance never seen before.
She flies into the sky, bright
hair and garland streaming.

Whispers of bonfires
unfold primordial
tales of the forest
and lakes as flames
cackle their stories,
told and untold and
fly in sputtering sparks
into the night.

The child hears the
whispers - swings
high and higher
and higher still
and flies above
the midnight sun.

Bonfires flare.
People touch
and bend, heliotrope
flowers in the breeze.

They dance with long
shadows of night to delirium
as they have every year
for centuries
on this bright solstice.

The equator rolls.
The earth quivers.
A garland floats down
on a sweet breeze.
The swing returns.

The sun stands still.