How we abandon a year:
december on the porch, 
playing mahjong with calendar squares,
and midnight mini quiche kazoos

1.
we all share one lie--
it's our only solidarity as
humans--
Bang a tea kettle
a sauce pan
a wooden spoon
against the stomach of
the spaghetti pot 
we work to scare away
december-- she's harvested the
unused calendar squares again
and clinks them like mahjong tiles
outside the living room window

2.
we carry the burden of
the years we all failed to 
sit down to write an ending for--
we dropped handfuls of stars--
made our own planets to ascend from 
the sky in order to make believe
we had come to some conclusion
but december she knows us 
better-- and our love of 
each january is only a honeymoon
of perhaps 
& sparkling grape juice 

3.
my mother makes mini quiche--
spinach purses & pot stickers
my brother plays the symphony 
of a kazoo-- 
we make calendars until
midnight--
monday tuesday wednesday
monday thursday friday
weekend weekend yearend
end in the peel of a page--
we're cutting time
into mahjong tiles for december
to taunt us with next time
we decide to be done 
with a year--

4.
the calendar was 
made to protect us-- 
help us forget
that we have never actually
succeeded in concluding a year--
no we don't end years--
we abandon them--
lock the windows & pull
down the blinds
so we don't remember who
we were last time
we forgot a year on the porch

5.
drunk off sparkling cider--
grape juice mug-- fold paper
stars to throw out the
window of my old
bed room onto the ledge
collecting snow & the 
erratic notes of my brother's
kazoo

6.
we were singing auld lang syne
days gone by 
days gone by
write me an ending in mini quiche
& aluminum foil

7.
stay up till midnight with
me & we'll start over
write the calendars in triangles--
prophesier girl in pajama pants--
kiss me into a new notebook--
dog ear december--
build a fire
build a fire

8.
build a window ledge
build a star
build a planet to drop 
like a god-- we're all trying
to forget what we abandon 
when we get a year older
play kazoos to call them
home-- remember your body
last year and the number
of mini quiches tucked
under your tongue
when we spoke--
when we kissed midnight goodbye
and she only sat on the porch--

9.
bang a tea kettle to 
set a planet on fire--
kiss a mug of grape juice

10.
i like it when i have someone 
else to share a lie with--
let's make our own calendar
144 mahjong tiles long--
fold each into a star--

11.
a sauce pan
a wooden spoon-- 
let's not pretend the year is over--
im not really one for funerals anyway--

let's play mahjong just the four
of us
me, my brother, mother
and december 
she cheats and adds squares
cut out of aluminum foil

12. 
good morning let's pretend
we're new bodies--
love these bodies as everyone
loves the first day 
of our make believe january 
run away to a windowsill
i'll feed you mini quiche 
-- clink grape juice mug--
drop the illusion of a new year
from the window sill--
mahjong tile--
december playing kazoo on the porch--
cook spaghetti in a wooden spoon