Let it begin, the invisible slide into another year,
feet and minds discerning the way from now to another now.
We have the moment, this one captivating us once more
as it enters full consciousness with sluggish drift, a fizzing spark,
a lone howl arising with chorusers lined up watching time.
The old wishing, an ardor for new and surprising, arises.
The new year’s smallness is made larger in expectancy,
though it will be more altered by random schemes.
Like the barn owl that I saw every walk: it disappeared.
Its feathers amid ferns make me weep. I thought it would stay
on and on, a sign of grace in the strife.
We cannot tell a story before it germinates,
is freely given or exchanged like a secret,
or peered at with a flurry of hearbeats: what will be made known?
And so another year’s unveiling is launched,
subdued, perhaps glittery.
Outside my back window, nothing startles me and yet
the old wide sky pinks up and oranges over,
then greys until, half blinded, I still lean
toward limbs of pines and shelter of mountains,
the horizon beyond current reach.
What is this time amid eternity’s strange magic?
Wind shivers my lashes as I step outside, but there
still remains a tick tick, tick tock: clock towers overseeing the night.
So then let it begin. We have done this before,
made time important as we still
opened arms and found them laden with sorrow,
the unweildy bulk of others’ wants and needs
but, too, astonishment and happiness,
love’s sudden salvation amid wars and storms.
Urgency can move us from victim to hero,
faces cleaned of bitter disbelief, transfigured by hope.
Oh, we are immense in our humaness.
We are brave and heartbroken,
scarred and beautiful beyond measure.
I am bowed down by miracles despite the malfeasance.
And the river knows what it knows as I move
through the days, walk, pray, am silent then sing.
In the center of forest, at water’s edge is renewal
but there is more ahead, women and men
and children rowing and trodding through the world.
Their breath as my breath, their fingers grasping my fingers.
We have learned how to walk on our knees all the way
from sunrise to dusk, and to carry or be carried,
have endured and languished in rock-hewn nights.
So we have lived these times, we have lived them in pieces
and in whole and those still here are living still.
Waiting for one moment to join
another, this age moving to that,
our scrap-stitched courage leading us
to the greater heart of humanity as we
cross bridges to lights in a beckoning distance.
I am crossing with you;
we will clear a path, devise our maps as we go.
5 thoughts on “Friday’s Poem: A Small Map to a New Year”
So powerful, Cynthia. “brave and heartbroken, scarred and beautiful beyond measure” – beautiful writing.
Many thanks; I always appreciate your comments–and the particular phrases you like.
It all seemed to deserve greater thought…what a year….but, still, time is–only time, and passes without our say-so, anyway. Thank you, Derrick for your continued responses. A good new year to you and your family!
You, too, Cynthia.