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
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
This was the year to let someone in.
she’s up, up, up, up, up, up, then
she’s downdowndowndown and let them say
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
for new nicknames
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.