Year

Folded together

In a four-letter word

Hours of laughter

Or longing and hurt

Time, ever stealing

Like five p.m. blue

Over December’s

Dusk-drenched avenue

Then, every so often

We mark with a cheer

The end and beginning

Of something called

Year.

Into this four-letter

Eager embrace

Hellos and good-byes

Softly take their place

Life’s centuries

Of battle and romance

Recorded in unassuming

Four-digit stance

As heart-rending

Life changing

Days disappear

Into a cup that we simply call

Year.

The pier where summer

Slipped into fall

The tear that composed

Heart-madrigal

Climactic capsules

Of triumph, despair

Holding, letting go

Ephemeral square

Of learning and living

And faith versus fear

Folded into four letters

We simply call

Year.

© Janet Martin