December 31, 2009 by threadingwater
Great Sand Dunes, Colorado 2009
I don’t believe in New Year resolutions. A person can wipe the slate of their life clean at any moment, and on any day begin new and fresh. For me, the end of the calendar year is more about making room for what lies ahead and listening to the “crackle” of “the things I didn’t do.”
Just another excuse to clean house, the true measure of peace for any true-blooded Polish girl.
Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.