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Ed Meek writes poetry, fiction, articles and book reviews. His new book of poems, High Tide, came out in 2020. Luck, short stories, came out in 2017. He has been published in The Boston Globe Magazine, The Boston Review, The Sun, The Paris Review, and Plume. He writes book reviews for Digboston and The Arts Fuse.

Just before Sunset in December

It must have something to do with the angle of the earth
as it turns away from the sun in late fall in New England
when just after four the temperature drops
and the light shoots straight from the hip of the horizon
striking maples, elms, birches and oaks
whose leaves curl up on the ground, dry and lifeless,
while the sun flashes yellow through the trees
as if to say, slow down, look both ways.
This must be what the Impressionists were after
afternoons in Brittany when the tide was out
and the long flat sand pinned the light in crystals,
the water a host of concave mirrors–
buoyant with the promise of art.
While here and now this stark luminosity,
coolly transparent, is oddly uplifting
as it streaks red across the sky
and singes the clouds orange.
Yeats said, in balance with this life, this death.
Maybe that’s why we are given this gift of light
or maybe we just see it that way
as a reason for pausing, however briefly,
grateful to be alive.

— Ed Meek

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