Thursday, December 30, 2010

Left Behind


The year
is an old coat,
wearing
thin.

I search
the pockets
one last
time.

There’s
something
strange
within.

An unborn day,
hanging by a thread.

From Winter Poems, written four years ago today.

8 comments:

all ways 11 o'clock said...

This is very beautiful-
looking back
looking ahead.

~robert

Woman in a Window said...

This is a wonderful poem for me to wake to this morning. (Waking late.) I read your books of shorts last night upon going to sleep. There is something curious in these shorts of yours, as though you are a mouse and I am at your tea party and you dole out life in tiny sized pieces of cake.

I love frosting.

xo
erin

Art by JFM said...

Very beautiful and written by a master...Happy New Year William~~~

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Robert. Back and ahead are fine, but don’t look down — this is one heck of a tightrope we’re on. (Ah! You looked. No wonder we’re friends.)

Erin, take one poem and call me in the morning. My curious shorts aside, I love your beautiful characterization. It might be raining or snowing outside our secret tree trunk, but it’s nice and warm inside.

And Happy New Year to you, Jan. Thank you. As we both know, Winter is the real master here.

Two Tigers said...

Lovely poem, William, timely and timeless. Which, now that I write them, sound like characters in a nursery rhyme. Or a very strange law firm. Or both. Happy New Year, my friend.

William Michaelian said...

Ah, yes. Timely and Timeless went to town, a tiny twosome with their tinny drum to tell the lawyers how awfully silly they were. Happy New Year, Gabriella. What a pleasure it has been getting to know you this year.

Wine and Words said...

I have two poems, posted to my bulletin board like the thumbtacks that lift my shoulders. This is one.

William Michaelian said...

An honor. I hope the other is one of yours. And in my case, your comment would surely serve. Thank you, Annie.