Happy New Year Ritual

We rise out of bed to begin the day like a machine

After the night’s rest to meet the demands on hand-biological and cultural

Fulfilling the ever-present emotional needs

That move the needle of the scale.

Many things can be weighed, while many can’t.

We are the cultural machine that weaves fiber into a fabric—

Ether into infrared like the heat exchange—

An era of incredible technological innovation.

It’s taking me out of the ritual, habitual realm, and I don’t understand it.

The end of the year is here, and it’s time to find a way

To balance the history and expectations.

I resist jumping into the new era shedding the old

Like changing soft, warm pajamas with slippers

Into day clothes with shape-fitting shoes. 

But time has no sentimental hue for the setting

And rising of the sun. 

Raking through my seven decades of sunrises and sunsets—

A mere minuscule drop on the planetary timeline. 

I wonder what the tines of the rake brought home,

Leaving the rest behind, obscuring the position of the needle on the scale

That gives me feedback.  No such miracle yet.

The resistance continues to keep my pajamas on all day long,

The invasive demand for change is relentless.

My poor eyesight fails to follow the delicate movement

Of the needle.

Happy new year, from the year of the Tiger to the Rabbit! 

Bring me a pair of magnifying glasses—telescopic bifocal, or otherwise,

And a duffle bag full of what the rake left behind. 


Year of the Tiger