Shaved Brussels Sprout Salad with Warm Cranberry Dressing Food Photo Poetry
The Interim Balks
(for you- you know who you are)
The year ends as it begins,
a spindle top ever swirling forward-
How do we divide ourselves from the yester-year carcass smoothly?
When do we nail the crux on the head without it jostling?
We move as on rails, blithe beings making their way into uncertainty-
No, we sometimes careen with the ache and sorrow
Of sometimes outliving what we thought could never die,
but instead clarifies the grey matter.
In droves, we surrender to what might wrest us from monotony,
we watch our resolve wither only to be born again
from the mouth of the child chasing the summit of his youth-
so let’s you and I make a pact of moving on without leaving behind.
Let’s weave through the rooms now closed to us
as if we too could play wraith instead of writhe
in the dreams of the awake and anaesthetized.
I choose life because death showed me the way.
And yet we move on, don’t we: the hand on mine,
the hand working its way forward in time,
the probability of revision within grasp.
– annelies z. 12/31/11
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