And next year's words await another voice.”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
I have torn the last page
from the damnable year
that brought lessons I am
not sure I learned.
A vocabulary of pain will not
be my companion as I cross the
threshold of a new calendar.
Why would I wish to greet January
with sooted lashes crying
of spilt milk and yesterday’s words?
The path before me has no footprints,
no can’t, no rewinding, no history.
My journey waits for me to take
that first step with the boldness of hope,
and the wisdom to know joy will not
abandon me if happy finds it
has mountains to climb.
©Susie Clevenger 2015
"Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
whispering, 'It will be happier." Alfred Lord Tennyson