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.