The Blues Behind Us

poem to close the year

the enchanting myth of time

finally escapes from its catacomb,

out of a year-long slumber,

for a day such as this.

for a moment,

despair is vanquished,

and exchanged for hope,

and terror with solace.

And time requests for me to

hold fast—and let go.

And I’d rather not; I relished those long

train rides—an excuse to disappear and erode

into a good book.

No, it makes no difference

to erase the euphoria that followed

the pang of tears and reality

restoring equilibrium.

its worth letting go of the idea

that life is a series of years

categorized as “good” or “terrible.”

I want time to be my own:

experience its immortality,

sit passively on its peaks,

and roll toward its sobering troughs.

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