What I love about this poem is its sense of what is essential.
What am I holding onto that could be crackling in the fire?
Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
(Read the rest of the poem here, at the Poetry Foundation.)
Find the whole Poetry Friday round-up here, at A Year of Reading. And don't miss all the fun Poetry Friday trivia they've posted, such as this great list of all the Poetry Friday links from 2006 and 2007, courtesy of Susan Writes.