31 December, 2020

Good morning, everyone.

I was going to write an end of the year wrap up. But I couldn't wrap my arms around the enormity this year has been. The pain and sorrow. The hatred and animus. The senselessness.

When I'm like this, when things don't focus, I turn to poetry. Imagery and concision make things clearer, and I can—maybe—understand, or at least come to a place of acceptance.

And, as long as there's life, there's hope. A new year is a mark on a manmade calendar. But it's our chance to reset, and to be better.

A poem for your New Year's Eve. Share in the comments your hopes for the coming year.

*********

No one will mourn this year's passing.

The dead bathe the landscape,

necrotic drops of rain against which

there is no protection. No umbrella

will halt their fall, nor can you

shelter under a tree.

Fierce, deadly cries fill our ears,

bringing to us rumors of... something.

Fear, threats, the beating down

sleet of hatred, old as time.

This is a year no one will forget,

and this is a year no one will want

to remember. Mere humans aren't made

to absorb so much pain,

roots sucking in water from

a poisoned well, leading

to strange fruit.

I shall shake the dust from my feet.

I shall set my eyes ahead.

I shall lock away this year

and open the box only when

I need to be reminded of lessons.

This final day of an unloved year.

I'll make a cup of kindness

for the new year dressed

in swaddling clothes,

expectant and hopeful anew.