This Was Not the Year

for __,

This is not the year to hope, this is not the year to plan,

this was the year to hold hands and adveturegrope

our way out of the dark and sit on boats and planes,

watch kites and read

on beaches and

grass like 

people recovering from consumption.

This was the year to eat Italian and

Indian and no Chinese and

paint black things and be a little bit cut, a little too raw

This was the year to re-learn and be still,

and do DVD marathons until 

we trudge to bed half-asleep 

splitting the one set of pyjamas 

and share similar nightmares

because of the cheese in Mario Battali’s pizzas.

Always the cheese. This 

was the year to get lost and found

I stood on the bleached

rocks at Dover, how  

I want to ghostbust every one before

You

This was the year to let someone in.

 he’d marvel,

she’s up, up, up, up, up, up, then

she’s downdowndowndown and let them say

to Me,

Really look into my eyes—from their marble green to my 

watery black and say,

You Know You Will Be Ok. 

for having so much pain and 

not knowing what to do with it but

laugh

for new nicknames 

new smells

new curves

Ikeagate

This was a year for wine in coffee cups and open door policies

for stripes meeting plaid

This was the year to appreciate, to climb a lot

of stairs. To save

all the good words for the end

Think of a bee, you are its knees.

This year exceeded expectations.

- Aletheia

Painting by Petra Cortright, images via Ghost Bees & Consulting