The Poetry Well is a monthly column that showcases island poetry. This month includes “Snowbound,” a poem by Jennifer Lynch from her “Vashon” collection.

Snowbound

within the solitude of snow falling for days

deeper and quieter grows the pulse of the

world

small birds search among the laden branches

for late crimson berries, or question the

bowing

heads of sunflowers, tattered petals falling

as sharp beaks reach for the suspended seeds

a cold wind plays bright notes on the metal

chimes

hung last summer, tall trees creak outside

in a

midnight lit by reflections in the blowing

snow

and inside, there is a fire, dry fir crackling

into flame

two dogs arranged in careless worship —

fat priests snoring with no thought beyond

the pleasure of warmth and full bellies

this is a fragile peace the storm has made

for us to dream ourselves alive again

Jennifer Lynch began teaching literature and writing in 1974, and spent a career in public and private schools devising ways to entice students “into cultivating a similar passionate addiction to the written word.”

She interspersed teaching gigs with managing a bookstore, working overseas and traveling around Asia, Central America and Europe, “as much as her finances would permit.”

Currently, she is working on five different thematic threads for individual collections of poems, most of which have been written since she returned to Vashon 10 years ago — “The Buddha and All That Jazz,” “Doubt Like A Dog,” “Orpheus,” “Phoenix” and “Vashon.”