Beach with the LiveWires this morning was cold but fun.
Looking out to sea
Leaping over a stream
I was sent this thoughtful New Year poem as a present this morning with permission to publish here if I wished. I do – so here it is for you to enjoy as well.
Poem for the new year (1995)
No more haunted houses,
stale-breathed walls
No more picking our way
around scrabbled ruins, choked
by the hold of generations
No more drawing at dry wells,
weaving whole cloth from
rags, brilliant
with their years and stories.
That’s right – begin here,
with the awe of
a new imagination,
a life still dangerously fresh,
precariously pink
at the bone,
a peach skin split,
flesh free from the stone,
juice drumming urgent
through your fingers –
begin with this.c Karen Mittelman
