As we enter the darkest (yet, paradoxically, most hypothetically joyous) month, we look back at the month that was with today's poem, "November," from Lynn Davies' collection how the gods pour tea.

Contacted via social media, Ms. Davies had this to say about her poem:

"I love to walk and November is one of my favourite months—all that stillness after summer's growth spurt! That poem began with the gulls taking their positions in the soccer field—they made me laugh, so serious they were. I like November so much I'm still writing November poems."

November

The trees are gone, their green
energy gone, as if this is it, this
  is all we’ve ever needed.
Through their branches at dawn
we see Venus, bright as the tin
can man hanging from a neighbour’s
garage. The river light wavers
on their bark and the wrinkled berries
still glow red. Near the school, gulls
take their positions in the soccer field
and wait. Only the trucks hurry,
hauling logs down Main Street
out to the highway, under the sky
moving in, growing bigger.