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)
perched
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

a certain weight

conscious of my chewing (kale salad with pieces of mashed sweet potato) in the
silent kitchen just after
10pm – the dinner i found waiting for me on the counter
with a plate covering the top of the bowl and tongs
poised for the taking
as i slipped in through the door late, from this
and that.
and now im eating with my fingers out of the small blue bowl with shades of black and copper that i made (last November) and i’m on my fourth serving of kale salad because of how (small) the bowl is and how
(fluffy) the kale is.

as i am chewing

the light on upstairs of e grading papers and the pink glow from ro’s room (late night newsletter writing) and the empty space of knowing that f is still out on her first 24 hour shift (at the new hospital) all combined
(not to mention the weather forecast of frost) translates

to a feeling of a certain weight

weight of arriving
to a quiet house,
of identifying everyone in a place, their place,
of feeling a part
and apart (at the same time)
washing the bowl out in the sink, rinsing my
hands and
turning off the light over the stove