northern lights

by Erin Schallmoser

A friend once told me this theory she had:

that once she sees the northern lights,

really gives them a good look, she will never

be sad again. Yes, what a dazzling way to turn

your back on depression. I can see it now: streaks of 

green and purple and yellow, freshly fallen snow that

crunches under her black boots, her spine like a path 

for the rest of her life: strong and systematic and painless. 

Here in western Washington, it’s early April and spring

is showing its face, but would I  even recognize it 

if it weren’t for the winter we just walked through? 

And so it is with my friend, seeking out the deep

timeless beauties of the world, hoping they will

be like a permanent summer for her psyche,

because she knows the winter too well and 

it has stopped serving her.

Erin Schallmoser (she/her) is a poet and writer living in the Pacific Northwest. Her work can be found in Nurture, Paperbark, Catchwater, and elsewhere. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Gastropoda, and is on Twitter @dialogofadream. You can read more at erinschallmoser.com/.