Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
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.
Posted by jess at Thursday, December 31, 2009
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