Bio Note: Happy New Year. Why does the time between New Years seem shorter every year? Regardless of the time we have, we always have our work to do.
A Poem in Favor of Remaining Purposeful in Dark Times
It’s late here, afternoon, and for all I know the solstice might have come and gone. Another of these sodden days keeps me in my sleep-clothes—Gatkes, my mother might say, a little Yiddish meant to make things light and shame me into the fray we’ve made of forced boredom and too much sleep. Not much happening before Christmas, the true-believers at the mall, avoiding one another as if they want to remain alive. Still, here they are in droves to address our national debt and resuscitate mankind’s collective desire; the National Guard poised to calm the streets so I won’t have to worry the neighbor’s rage: my leaves blown carelessly on his lawn again; the cops have promised not to kill anymore. Why not walk aimlessly around masked and dazed by the beauty of the Christmas lights? Underutilized, my own daughter says of me, though it’s not how I was raised. The moon was part of us once before it was hoisted and fastened above and later assigned to werewolves and love— though we know we’re done with that. But now the moon, risen low in the sky, and twice as bright comes into its own— holding out against any wobble, any sudden tilt of the earth. The Sun, that old Palooka, means to cook us alive and swallow us whole. Still, the moon remains, attached to the tides, and even in times like these, determined to do its little job, whether or not it’s to any avail. Meantime, let's not forget to attend to ours.
Originally published in The New Verse News
©2023 Alan Walowitz
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