Clear Cut

Memories are tree stumps

What was, isn’t anymore
what was alive, now is dead
though it harbors new life;
pain, bitterness, wistfulness,
love, remembrance, regret
thrive like so much lichen

On occasion a new shoot
sprouts from the stump,
drawing its nourishment,
its potential new life, from
the decayed remains of
what had once been

While the new seedling may
grow, even thrive skyward

it will never be what was

Targeted

I was once a
New Year’s resolution

a young woman
I worked with at a
large hotel

greeted me passionately,
spontaneously, in the
grand lobby

flinging her arms
unannounced
around my neck,
first kiss of a new year

January first.

Our first kiss, and last
wouldn’t have been either

had that new year come
the previous October.