Woke up this morning with this in my head. Couldn’t end the year otherwise.
A thirty-first – December morn –
A last day December borne.
We should be dampened,
Unceasing happenings:
A planet shrinking, its news expanding;
Terrifying, shaming.
On this day folk play,
Light fireworks, eat heartily, get tipsy – pray.
With floods, tornadoes, wanderings unsolicited.
If one’s not deaf, dumb, blind one knows.
My very own food table
Weighed down to collapse;
Schnaps glasses ready at the go,
We’ll yell hooray at midnight,
Hug and kiss,
Cheer and dance,
Dressed in our best.
[I’m] just a bit embarrassed, yet
One must find something small thing to celebrate.
I have it! But it’s hard!
Work on the shitty sides of self.
Water daily flowers of you gifts.
Perhaps one can lift a marred
Two thousand sixteen.
What Is There To Celebrate 12.31.2015
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
