Prune.
Make room for summer’s blooms.
Say GoodbyeIReallyLovedYou.
Burn, then walk away.
A poem, by Naomi Shihab Nye:
Burning the Old Year
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.
Happy New Year! You must read a lot of poetry, you always are conversant with the most interesting and poignant poems. This one is no exception.