2024 - A Synopsis
by Mimi Moriarty
January
glacier slow, hollow pearls of quiet against laughing snowfall.
February
love makes its annual journey, an imposter in the spare room.
March
the atmosphere turns jolly, we drink foamy brew as medicine.
April
buds sigh above the grit, wink at the daffodils waving their fronds.
May
the musk settles; my mother still rattles her rusted cage.
June
it’s official - the border is closed! The desperate keep climbing.
July
we sing from pulpits patriotic psalms wrapped in stars and stripes.
August
clans slip into carefree mayhem and chaos - the lake will do that.
September
the month hinges on a creaky door - opens - there is a party!
October
the door remains ajar; you peek; there is another door, closed.
November
it’s all theater - the cast, the crew, the stage collapsing under the weight of thieves.
December
the virgins are hidden in the attic, the children in the basement. We stockpile cans of beans and rolls of toilet paper. We have been practicing since the epidemic, but somehow we are not ready.
~
Mimi Moriarty is a poet living in a log home overlooking the Hudson Valley. She is less active in the poetry scene than her younger self, but continues to write as she gracefully ages into a crone.
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Gorgeous images! December hits the nail on the head - mine!
ReplyDeleteSounds like an annual project
ReplyDeletewonderful springboards
ReplyDeleteGreat structure. Making me think of how I would do this
ReplyDelete