This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, March 18, 2011 - As this long winter finally relents, this month's poem celebrates the warmth we make ourselves on a cold morning. Aside from the arresting opening image, I love Melody Gee's hushed tone, the few hard sounds appearing for the most part in the last third of the poem, with the crackling fire, which in the end is also hushed and quiet.

Gas Fire

Night stretches over us like the hot skin
of a plum, yesterday's bruise peeling
into blue. These January mornings
come at us so fast we are for hours
mopping up the spilled day before day
even begins. Again, a dream of walking,
a dream of birds flushed from the tall grasses,
their wings beating the blades apart
in a hail of down. We are letting go
or being let go. I tell you the birds
flooded the sky and we watched them ease
into the clouds. I wake gathering
dried things to start a fire. The dream says
we need crackling tinder and kindling,
that to take a spark branches must fall
still of their sap. Wake, love,
the fire against our winter
from a can. It burns still, does not
crackle, makes no smoke.

Melody Gee's first book of poems, "Each Crumbling House," appeared last year. Her work has appeared in "Cha: An Asian Literary Journal," "Crab Orchard Review," "Dogwood," "The Spoon River Poetry Review" and many other places around the country. She teaches writing at Southwestern Illinois College and lives in St. Louis with her husband and new baby.

Richard Newman, River Styx editor for 15 years, is the author of two full-length poetry collections, "Borrowed Towns" and "Domestic Fugues." He also co-directs the River Styx at Duff's reading series.

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