poems for the sound of the sky before thunder, my third book, has been receiving so many beautiful reviews recently—from Jeremy Mifsud: “Winters’ collection is both the storm and the silver lining. It starts out well and keeps getting stronger with each poem. … In these poems, I kept finding the reasons to standing back up and fighting, amidst all the pain.”
& from Sophie Falkenheim: “Winters does with words what no one else does. Boundless, elegant, somehow sharp and soft at the same time. I like to read poetry that has a kick to it, that leaves me feeling like I’ve been hit in the ribs sometimes. This book does just that. … I for one have no idea how Winters writes these—how they write with such depth and care dedicated to each one. It is, in fact, astounding. Worth a read. Worth several reads. Worth a home on your bookshelf.”
I thought I would share a poem from the book with you, a raw & aching little piece that still makes me tear up a bit to read today. This one was originally published in Chowing Fat, BooksActually’s blog, & I so hope it gives you what you need right now. If you don’t have your copy of PSST yet, you can pick yours up right here, featuring this poem & many more.
Thank you for your kind words, my loves. They mean everything, everything.
This is how we define every day:
ringing phone & car ride home & film montage slowing.
& the music stopping. & moon
we point at only to realise you are not here to wonder with us.
Yearning, we call this,
the feeling full of swallowed distance.
Something has been stuck in our throats for a very long time.
Maybe we should have seen it coming, but we were too busy
waiting for you to pick up the phone.
Pick up the phone. Please.
A cherishing of things we previously had not seen.
Look, we want to say. Look at this. But you don’t look.
The night sighs itself over our bodies.
The phones ring themselves to sleep. The music dies down.
All of the words happen here.
We want more & more of everything, even though
it will not bring us back to the nothing you found.
There are so many ways freedom translates to loneliness.
Look around. This is the world without you in it.
The film still playing but no music in the background.
Somewhere, the ringing stops. Hey, you say.