fold pigs into blankets, roll cheese logs,
find the sheet music to Auld Lang Syne
bite my lip, chop almonds, hang clothes,
empty hampers, trah cans, superstitions
clamoring to be met with everything new,
though all I can think of is you, and then,
not this bleak year to come, my birthday.
I'll never get the house clean by five pm
much less midnight, I should have started
after Christmas, should have said yes, left
that night when plowed snow blocked
all the parking spaces, black sky quilted
with lights, you against the angled car
to apologize, we'd wait for some sort of magic
on nights like that, tonight, here's another
year gone and to come making do, holding
memories like a chalice to my bloody lip,
I am dizzy with awareness, with regret,
a child who doesn't get what she wants
because she never asks, chopping onions,
for help, chopping, chopping, rolling, humming,
to better remember I will close my eyes, wish
away the kiss at midnight, that sad song.
(c)Shann Palmer 2009
published in Skipping Stones Vol VI
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
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