(For Norman And Cella)
Looking backward to the New Year
I hear laughter, proof of good cheer,
laughter here, there, and everywhere,
fireworks, toasts, and breaking glasses.
Cheers for the lower classes,
the uncertainty of another day,
so much uncertainty along the way.
In Spain twelve grapes are eaten at midnight,
grapes of sorrow and delight.
What cakes! Pies! And herring!
What praise for loves
coming and going
cooked by Eros who shoves
us in and out of bed all year.
I feel a parliamentary Hear, hear!
We didn’t ask, “how is this night
different from all other nights?”
We didn’t say, “next year in Jerusalem.”
Still we celebrated freedom.
What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine.
Choice, simple as white or red wine.
Love is en garde,
something between a post card
and a never-ending letter.
A poem, a little verse, says it better.
Happy New Year!
Wish you were here.