New Year

Ah, you know, black-eyed peas and turnip greens on the stove, my grandmother's cornbread in the oven, a walk in the cemetery, and, last night, reading things that scared me a little, made me feel like crying, having dancers tell me I'm a dancer, watching a little girl and young women and middle-aged women do martial arts to poetry, still as tough as they want to be, hearing a few good poems, then fireworks !!!! off the parking garage at six pm, since it's dark as all get out anyway, and Indian food and forty-two and champagne with my love and someone else very dear, and someone else less known but kind. Plans to make, facts to face today, but first I better tend to those black-eyed peas.

The most delicious and varied passions to you this year, the most deep and fertile rest, plenty of sky, plenty of effort, and some unexpected or profoundly familiar connections with people who honor you.

And if you happen to get a chance to hear "Goodbye little rock-n-roller," by Marshall Chapman, don't be too cool to cry!