New Years
It’s born on the same day
every year,
and we call it new
and celebrate
This year, this fresh,
just-been-born one,
our white rosebush suddenly,
for the first time, grew pink flowers
And the snails sprawled out
on the outside white wall
of our house, are winning
the slowest race ever
We are cooking orange jam
from the fruit
of our happy trees
and chicken soup for comfort
Because the last year
died hard, struggling
for the solace
of lighter days
And it’s uncertain every year
what will happen,
from dawn to dark
to dawn again
But right now,
pink roses are blooming
in the garden,
like hope
Eliel Fionn
1/1/25