NYE

So easy to see the curated roundups and wonder

was mine like that?

Was it all beaming sunsets and 

glossy groups cheersing matching drinks in a circle?

For every perfect coffee flatlay

there’s a day spent staring into nothing,

but that’s okay. 

There’s magic in the little things

when the staring days pass. 

Yes I stepped out of a taxi in the one week of spring

when the orange blossom filled the streets of Athens, 

every step perfumed. 

I also fell down a hole 

about my eye bags. 

Yes I swam in a crystal sea

and stole a blindingly white stone for home -

I’ve also ugly cried in the middle of a curry house.

It doesn’t have to be a perfect grid,

and my fringe isn’t always straight,

and the deep fatigue can come and go. 

Sometimes it’s more about a hand slipping into mine

walking around Sainsbury’s. 

Or the way my nephews deliver their bone-crunching tight hugs,

my friends making me hoot with laughter.

It’s absolutely fine that an achievement is 

finally putting my washing away on some days -

the pins of loveliness plug me into life,

they’re right there in my pocket, 

the rope thrown down

to haul me back up. 

I must revisit that curry house

and laugh instead this time.