BY GREELEY RIORDAN

Another year slips by, and I am
Barely aware, to be frank. I try to
Cup each day in my palms,
Drink them in like river-water, and it all
Ends up dripping down my face, between my
Fingers, onto my shirt. World, let me find something
Glorious and meaty in this next one. I hold my
Halestone heart in my palms, and
It melts and drips to the ground,
Just another rotting glacier. I want to be
Kinder, this year, next year, all the time. Find
Love in each little nook and cranny, each
Muddy fall and fever-sweat spring and
No-show winter. There’s a love here,
Or something close, at least. I want to
Peel up the dread and find something
Quiet but lovely, something I can
Really sink my teeth into. Little venomous
Snake or lace-delicate bug, something
True and defiant. Something alive and squirming,
Underneath the rotting log. Something
Vibrant enough to make me remember, oh, that’s right —
We’re alive, we’re alive, we’re alive. No
Execution, no sudden dark, no choice we can’t undo.
You and I are alive, here, now, together,
Zits and heartbreak and sea levels be damned.