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A Poem and A Pomosa

I don't typically share my poetry. It's something that has always been a very private practice for me. But today for some reason, when I sat down to write this post, a poem came out. I don't expect it to mean the same thing to you that it does to me, but I do hope that you enjoy it in some way. It is a toast, of sorts, to the New Year. I hope it is every bit as thrilling, infuriating, and lovely as the last.

This has been a big year.
But aren't they all?
We are always dipping our toes in
something or other
or plunging in head-first as if we
are not afraid at all.

Sometimes we fake it and let fear steer us
through the rough bits,
harnessing terror like a
rutting wild horse, every untamed cell
quaking beneath the bridle.
And then we are thrown
or not thrown--
we talk of it later as if we
were not afraid at all.

Some of us trusted our compass, a needle
in a haystack of intersecting lines;
we read it like a holy book
into the night. But then
we remembered the stars
flaring in the inkwell of sky,
and we gave ourselves over to them,
ancient and infant and hundreds
of years dead, and we
are not afraid at all.

A big year--I felt the depth of
my humanity, its icy gardens and infinite
suns; my hands scraped at the truth.
I wrote love songs, most now
forgotten,
and gave up on
unimportant things. I ate
tomatoes in the grass
from your hand, and I
am not afraid at all.

 

Other articles you might enjoy: Stout and Irish Cheddar Gougères, Smoked Salmon Canapés, Tapenade

Pomosa
Serves 1, but is best enjoyed in the company of friends

Pour into a chilled Champagne flute or wineglass:
        2 ounces pomegranate juice
Fill the glass with:
        Chilled sparkling wine
Garnish with:
        Pomegranate arils

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