Peapods and Plain Rocks
Monday, December 31, 2018
Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shehab Nye
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.
Naomi Shihab Nye, “Burning the Old Year” from
Words Under the Words: Selected Poems
(Portland, Oregon: Far Corner Books, 1995).
Sunday, December 30, 2018
by Tess Gallagher
I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest
where a mountain
for Drago Štambuk
Tess Gallagher, "Choices" from
Midnight Lantern: New and Selected Poems
. Copyright © 2011 by Tess Gallagher.