But The Sky Will Be Clear

the fewtch

After Christmas

the Birth of our things

and the afterbirth curbed

in bags black and blue

That's when the mercury really drops

and we break promises while trying 

not to wake

whatever sleeps

besides

us.

What is it hurting

my stomach?

Is it the chimichurri?

The homemade BBQ sauce?

Sweet red like the cat

and movie blood.

It could be.

Or it could be all

the springs underneath me

battling with whatever

I call God for a week

in January.

Reviews

[Ana B.]

I love this! Perfect and honest, gotta respect that. Last stanza - brilliant :)

[Robert Trakofler]

Holidaze or is it hollandaize? I suppose it doesn't matter nice symbolism I especially like the black and blue reference. I always resolve to not, this time of year and avoid the upset stomach preemptively

[likesgreeneggsandham]

Really stunning poem. Loved the bleakness of it, perfectly encapsulates January's dark hopefulness. We all run the gauntlet of trying to be better human beings for as you say, about a week in January.
'and we break promises while trying
not to wake
whatever sleeps
besides
us.'
Love these lines in particular. A stellar job.

[The Twin Arenas]

Thanks. The obligatory New Year poem. Appreciate the read.