I have a cup
It’s a lovely and sturdy cup
Is it full?
Is it empty?
What’s in there?
Is it half full?
Is it half empty?
Something is in there
Why do you tell me how to view my cup?
Do you know its contents?
Do you know what my cup is made of?
My cup has
Spilled
Overflowed
Burned my fingers
Chipped
Knocked over
Cracked
Repaired
AND it has never
Gathered dust in the cupboard
What a lovely and sturdy work of art
A gift
My cup
This poem rolled out of my brain through my fingers quite quickly as the curtain came down on 2023. Instead of saying Happy New Year, I changed that salutation to It Will Be a Year. As I’ve written about in previous posts, we’ve learned that control over our lives is an illusion. Who am I to say that next year will be a happy one? This I know: it will be a year.
After fighting what we (and the doctor) thought was a horrible flu for a week, William was hospitalized for 3 nights and diagnosed with a mysterious kidney infection. He was discharged on Dec. 31, 2023, then had to recuperate at home and miss the first week of winter term. Meanwhile, Marguerite, my mother in law, ended up in the ER in the same hospital at the same time as William, and was diagnosed with an inoperable and malignant brain tumor.
So yeah, 2023 ended with a slam that shouted “don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”