lamentations in the new year

My neighbor has the Christmas lights

strung up around the big pine tree in his front yard.

They are shining tonight, and it is the 7th of January.

I had never noticed before that a few of them blink,

but perhaps it is the wind.

Why must he torment me?

And I cannot seem to shut the curtains.


I have taken mine down-

the glass and all the memories.

It is tradition

that such things not be around

after a year is new;

when the time for peace is over-

that elegant time of chambord and vodka tonics,

of homes lit with hope, dulling the stars.

Of kitchens filled with love,

and preheated ovens.


Gone with the hope of better things

into that sweet night-

that gentle void.

Of ways unchosen and apart,

if not for these distractions

hanging on,

these few persistant lights.