the New Year is coming
I am not ready
to let go of this one
for this one
held you for nearly half
of it
and yet
the other half held
the deepest chasm of grief I’ve known
two halves
same coin
love and loss
I am not ready
to let go
of this one
I’m stepping into the New Year
tenderly, gently
with no expectations
but if the New Year
can be thought of as gray
that is an improvement over black
the inky jet black of grief
colored over half of this year
with its stain
thinking of walking over
the threshold into even a day of gray
lightens the load considerably
gray is a momentary compromise
one foot in black, the other in white
and my heart mixes them to gray
