On Finding Sunrises on Dark January Mornings (#93)

Turning up the earth with my plow to cultivate a new poem for you and the campfire. Also: whiskey cake!

Part of Campfire Notebook’s new format is a monthly poetry feature. As I continue to work on new poetry submissions offline, I still want to share examples of my work with you. These are poems created purposefully each month to share around the Campfire.

Today’s publication date lands on Burns Night, a celebration of Scotland’s national bard, Robert Burns. Traditionally, one would present a meal of haggis, neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes) to the strains of a bagpipe, finished with recitals of Burns’ poetry and lashings of scotch whiskey.

This may surprise you, but in Atlantic Canada, we are fresh out of haggis. (One store used to sell it in a tin as part of a small English/Scottish grocery section, but the store has changed hands, and I doubt it was a big seller anyways.) And this year, I’m participating in Dry January, so no swirling and sipping caramel elixir post-dinner.

Instead, I’m making another Burns Night staple, cock-a-leekie soup. Which is just a chicken and leek soup but seems lovely fare for a forecasted snowy day. And while I can’t drink whiskey but I can bake with it; this orange cake with salted caramel whiskey drizzle came up in a Burns Night search and will do nicely.

Scenes from a taste test: the aforementioned orange cake - so buttery and just enough crunch - and the dark, salty, sweet sauce. (Recipe by Recipes From a Pantry; photo by Bryn Robinson, 2024).

Who was Robert Burns? He was a proto-Romantic; as a style, romanticism is emotional, individual, and very descriptive; a response to the classical movement and “Age of Reason” that resonates with me. (Other poets in the romantic camp include William Wordsworth, John Keats, and Percy Bysshe Shelley: think daffodils and Grecian urns and cloudless climes and starry skies.)

With that in mind, for today’s creation, I tried to lean into emotional description. I also borrowed the rhyming pattern and structure from Burns’ poem, To a Mouse. (Which sounds adorable until you read the sub-title - On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785 - and subsequent stanzas. 🥺)

My offering leans more positive.

(Eventually).

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Mango
I had departed from the darkness -  
that murky crawl space surrounded by
a wet shower curtain that smothers
         our wild hearts;
ink swirling, clawing, gripping for ripeness,
        testing freshness. 

I had departed from the darkness, 
steering plow back to the homestead. Then: 
A crack in the lining, to let in
       the mango sun.  
The juices drip between my fingers,  
       sweetened promise. 

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Thanks for reading this month’s creation, friends. You can check out other poems I’ve created for the Campfire here:

Invasive Species | The Tangent Function | A Spark That Spreads

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