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. Art by Dario Campanile Recommended listening: Too Afraid to Love You - The Black Keys Links of the Day: Rainbow Mountains
The Incredible Analog Drawing Machine Warm winters are making squirrels fat everywhere Dead Doormen (short story)