Nothing New Here, Really
I’m still buying oatmeal.
I’m still enraptured by white legs
And short skirts, and I’m still
Short on cash.
Except my window is open
and lilacs are in bloom. I’m drinking
Less. Much less. And yesterday I saw two
Children carrying balloons.
I’m still haunted before I go to bed.
I still wake up happy.
Except you’re violent and lilac violet now,
Saying you’re making me new here.
I’ve cleaned the kitchen.
The rhubarb is in season. I picked some.
My books look so fresh and green to me.
But is anything new here, really?
Soon I’ll be painting houses
In the heat of June, and still I won’t feel new.
Yet you’re always amaying and happily saying,
“I make all things new.”
Minneapolis, 2009. Self-published in Loveletting.