The Dying Year
© 2014, C. D. (Dean) Bonner

That bleak week

The death rattle of the year

Between Christmas and New Year

A bin with rumbling wheels

Carted the boxes away

The bright wrapping paper carefully salvaged,

Re-rolled for another season

No one is visiting now
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Songs have fallen into silence

The scents of the season returned to the yard

And the cupboard

A low-hanging overcast

Low sun, but the days are just perceptibly longer now

I smile, and tilt at the dying year with hazelnut coffee

As hot as I can stand it