Posts Tagged ‘newness’


for Christie

Shaggy and mottled,
lumpy as an old woman’s thighs,
five quince recline in the shallow bowl
and all day I marvel
as the delicate scent opens,
exotic and fragrant,
like guava, like honey,
like citrus, vanilla.
Every year my friend
harvests me quince from her tree,
and every year they somehow
astonish me again.
As if I didn’t know.
As if their sweetness is new.
Perhaps the annual forgetting is a gift,
because what joy
in falling in love with them
again each year,
their bright yellow scent,
the honest perfume of friendship,
the thrill in their ripening.

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The stomach replaces its lining

every four days. Every four days.

Because it’s so highly corrosive,

every four days it remakes itself

and becomes completely new.

Love, this is what I want to do.

Because sometimes we are acid.

Because sometimes we are cruel.

I want to start over every four days.

Every four days, let us be new.

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They are old friends now, these songs,

these raps. I can sing along and snap


out the lyrics—and though there is joy

in fluency, I catch myself wishing


I could hear them all newly. I remember

the kick in the odd snooty king, the ache


in the song for a son who died young, the thrill

as Hamilton helps others rise, the chill


when Hamilton duels and dies.

Not that I don’t still cry every time—


I do—but it’s not the same as when it

was new. And it makes me wonder


how many more firsts there are

awaiting discovery. So much left


to find and uncover, every moment

blushing with potential, every


interaction the chance to unearth

more reasons, more ways to fall in love—


fall in love, perhaps with something new

in the same job, the same walk,


the same dish, the same song.






As a strange PS to this poem:


then tonight I stumbled on Joey who has is own You Tube channel, Joey Reacts, devoted to filming his reactions to music video he is seeing for the first time. What a strange concept! But sure enough, I watched him watch Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody and part of me was so jealous, but part of me just delighted in watching someone experience it, the rapture, his speechlessness.

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Ever-newer waters flow on those who step into the same river.




wading this same stream

so long my skin pruned,

my feet numbed,

and this strange sense that yet again

I’ve been baptized


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