It’s the last Friday of the month… and of the year.
It’s Christmas.
Winter solstice has passed but the days are still awfully dark.
Sometime last December, my poetry sisters and I made up our calendar for the year.
It’s hard to even fathom anymore what we expected.
We based quite a few prompts on vision — the clarity 2020 would surely bring.
We looked back in order to course correct or add perspective.
We looked forward (it was a new decade after all!) with… was it eagerness? inspiration?
It makes me feel tender for the 2019 versions of us, and when I say us I mean all of us.
For this final poem, December 2020, we thought we ought to write about wistfulness, which you have to admit is rather on the nose. Also, ironic since for mental health’s sake, many of us have tried not to dwell on the peace and reconciliation that hasn’t been struck, the human touch that hasn’t happened, the health that hasn’t been secured. And yet, here we are at the very end of a very dark, nearly impossible year, wistful.
What did we know, when we gave ourselves that prompt?
Maybe it’s that no matter the year, the pandemic, the election, the gaping societal chasms, it is hard not to ache a little as a year turns. To wish we’d been able to see or accomplish or understand a little more. To fix, finally, what ails us individually, familially, as a people. It is hard not to want to wrest a few months or minutes of the goodness back, too. To wish we didn’t have to let go of what we’ve loved. Maybe that’s always true and this year just throws it into stark relief.
From that place in me to that place in everyone, I send out empathy and love. And this tanka, about the other night’s planetary conjunction, when Saturn and Jupiter came closer to each other than they have been in nearly 400 years.
Wistful
On such a long night
all the people crane their necks
looking for the light,
a planetary promise
that we’re closer than we think
My pal’s poems are here:
Tanita
Sara
Kelly
Laura
Tricia
And Poetry Friday is at Live Your Poem.
Happy New Year, all. Stay safe and well.
“hard not to ache a little as a year turns” – when I think of wistfulness, it’s exactly that — a small, fleeting ache that in a way is almost enjoyable in its reliability… thank you for your poem and the loveliness of us being closer than we think!
Thanks, Irene. And I loved “almost enjoyable in its reliability” – ha, so true. Especially for those of us who swing a little melancholy.
“looking for the light,” and “planetary promise” are perfectly wistful phrases. What a wonderful way to end your year of poetry.
Isn’t it convenient how the world just offers itself up metaphorically over and over again?
Nodding my head at your words. Lovely tanka!
Thank you!
May we always collectively ‘crane our necks to look for the light’. Merry Christmas to you and yours. 🙂
Yes — it’s really no more necessary this year than ever. We just are more aware of the need!
You do wistful looking back well, dear Liz…and looking forward, too! Your poem gives me hope.
I mean, it’s interesting that I didn’t feel capable of going back historically and instead stayed wistful right here and now, right? What a time we’ve been living through!
Oh, “we’re closer than we think.” From your mouth to the ears of the Universe. I feel a little tender towards 2019 us, too. What did we know? And yet, here we are…having climbed one half of the mountain. Now it’s just about crossing the peak and getting down… The end of the year reminds us, it CAN be done.
Happy Christmas!❄️
What DID we know???
But yes, it can be done. I was talking with Finlay about this yesterday — that as sad and hard as it’s been, we know something about ourselves now — about our nimbleness and resilience — that we didn’t before. Ooof. Hard won. Let’s hit that summit, friend.
You captured the wistfulness perfectly, Liz! Love your tanka and your words! Here’s to a brighter 2021!
Yes — here’s to it!
Yes, we’re closer than we think struck home with me too. If only we could see it. Thank you for this lovely post and poem.
I STILL believe we are closer than we think, us humans. I’m stubborn that way.
Craning our necks, indeed. I also thought about the ironic fact that Jupiter and Saturn are still SO far apart. It’s simply the angle and perspective that make them appear to almost touch. It’s kind of the same way that Zoom can make those I love appear SO close, even though we’re very distant in the physical reality of things. Looking forward to writing together (in real time!) in 2021.
So so so true — Zooming planets, only appear close. Sheesh, what a time.
Through your tanka lines I read wistful hope, and we sure could use that idea of being “closer than we think.” Thanks for your lovely poem!
Hard not to feel hopeful — it’s all we’ve got!
Oh, how I hope that we’re “closer than we think.” Thanks for a thoughtful beautifully written post and poem. Wishing you the best as the year changes.
To you, too!
I love everything about this post. You are a blessing.
As are you, my friend. Happy New Year. xoxo
I went out those days ago with my granddaughters and we did see that beauty of those planets, hoorayed for them with others in my park, a bit of time we were like other days, right? I do love your tanka, Liz, but most of all your wistful words for all of us. Thank you!
I love that you took your granddaughters out to look up and out. What an example to set!
Liz, in a mixed-up world of living isolated from each other, you offer “a planetary promise-that we’re closer than we think”. Looking back on that night of “looking for the light”, I realize something special. We met up with my little granddaughters when we traveled to Virginia for a walk-thru of our new home. My 3-year-old walked beside me. Although we followed the rules, no touch, no hugs, no kisses, the coldness of the night brought us closer than we thought it would be. Peace to you.
Oh, that gave me a little shiver. What strange times these are. I look forward to a time you can swoop them up into your arms again!
It’s hard not to wish for…
Your poem points us to the stars to wish we were closer, more connected, together. This pandemic year has left me wishing, too.
I now realize I never responded to these poems. I love that you wrote a tanka. And that craning of the necks is so accurate. I spent many a night leading up to the conjunction skywatching, only to have a night full of clouds on the day when they were closest.
Lovely poem.