a response to Philip Larkin´s "Midwinter Waking"
The first escape of water hints—but not yet.
There is a torment of moving bugs and heat, but not yet.
I can imagine all those things impressively, inside,
Am ready to step out barefoot but they tell me not yet.
This political passion moves faster in winter
Someone will forget about it someday, but not yet.
"Joint" is a word used more often these days
Minutes of talking, soon over, but not yet.
My dog tries to think of words to answer in,
I shut him up. I give him "stay," tell him "still" is not "yet."
A thrum of movement—beasts are climbing over the walls of garbage!
The collection of books once had power, soon will again, but not yet.
I lie, torn between covers and outside of them.
You are going to be a faster girl in summer, but not yet.
Emma Post is a poet and coordinator of the Reading/Workshop Series hybrid "Divine Write" in Troy, NY. She feels attached to her rural New York upbringing but has lived, studied and traveled in Oregon, Glasgow, Burkina Faso, and Sevilla.