New Year
How transparent you’ve become:
even the leaves blow through
your pockets, and penitents
line up, awaiting the latest word.
Those who have, fear the most.
Each day collapses under its own
weight, rising again into the new.
Surgery brooks no illusions;
this house, too, will fail.
Owning little, I pour tea and wait.
“New Year” first appeared here on January 1, 2017.
O at the Edges 
Yes 😊😊
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Thank you!
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Love your pithy poems, Bob – each rereading reveals more!
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You are kind, as always, Lynne. Thank you!
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I read this with multiple “connections” vying for “what this means” … You are so good at leaving space for personal associations!
The surgery line hops out on this read – “brooks no illusions” – yup, when I reflect on my recent hip surgery experience: came away with no illusions of “in control” or “well” not even “OK”. Surgery definitely flattens an ego. [I think more the dumbing-up drugs than the incisions – but seems one cannot opt for incision alone, so I may be misjudging …]
Mostly “me” again now after 3 weeks (mentally, emotionally) I’m nodding at your title here. There are various milestone markers on my perpetual calendar (hangs on kitchen wall) that each constitute a “beginning” of something life-changing – like a “birth day” or a “new year”.
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This was written three years after a heart attack and a month after abdominal surgery, both of which left me with no more illusions of control. But five years later, here I sit, in Indiana, of all places. Never saw that coming!
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Surgeries are interruptions … to all manner of associations and capabilities … great when they enable transitions (Indiana beckonings!) – I ponder what my switch will enable in my activity level forward – fingers crossed for more trail blazing in more remote sites triggering more poetic interpretations …
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Yes! My fingers, too, are crossed for more trail blazing, poetic interpretations and good times for you!
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