as new as this year

identifying the mid point in winter, like i would notch
its height in a tree trunk, marking this moment in time.

seeing the last month laid out in front of me in the form of 3 by 5 watercolor drawings, (the hobby that is as new as this year) that are resting on the floor next to the lamp
and the aloe plant

seeing my name tag, (the one from the meditation retreat) (the retreat that set the tone for everything that has followed)
in the thick juicy aloe leaves

wrapping myself in a blanket and slipping my feet in oversized boots, to walk outside at the turning point between night
and day, to see if i can spot the blue super moon in the early morning.

and seeing it across the road through the neighbor’s trees, looming above the horizon, i want to follow it somewhere i can grasp it more fully,
but i don’t, and i carry my longing back inside,
slipping off the boots, and climbing the stairs back to bed

five feet to the west

a sugar maple tree in a past life she says of me commenting on my drinking
maple sap out of a half gallon mason jar
for the 12th day in a row.
i am holding the unwieldy glass container with both hands, sipping.
it does taste
heavenly. if heaven were also the home of all past lives and the subtle sweet
juices of what we didn’t know we remembered.

the central leaf of the aloe vera by my window severely droops over
in one instant, as if to tell me that is the direction it wants to go,
and so I move it
five feet to the west,
to sit on my bedside table close to my pillow.

I’ll throw ya to the wolves for that one he says over the phone and I can laugh because
the wolves in this case will be 12 and 13 year olds,
and I will be singing them songs.