Pieces of a New Year’s Day
A poem
All that was
and wasn’t last year;
all that would be
in the coming year;
resolutions and dreams;
fears and whims;
all that the day was meant to be —
the pressure of the plans
for the need for fun;
all of it sitting on the morn,
till the poor day broke
with the weight of it all.
And the pieces came crashing
down on her,
poking and probing all around.
So, she hid in her bed
behind her blanket,
till the day gaped out,
wide and hot.
That’s when she slowly peeked,
then, flicked
the sharp, sure pieces on to the floor.
She looked down, stared,
moved them around,
to see if the jigsaw might fit or form.
But nothing made sense.
So, she slowly swept them into a pile.
Now, there was just this to decide:
whether to push them under the bed;
or to the corner of that cozy room;
or to throw the pieces off outside —
out of the window
to watch them fly.
