I Don't Believe In Resolutions

A poem for the new year

My mother has a theory that you do one thing every day for the first 12 days of the new year that you would like to implement into your life for the next year. I love this practice. Often the first day is a battle between the word, the ocean, and meditation. I’d also like to stick my hands in the dirt, and make some rice. I’d like to bake something, and make the bed, and fold all the laundry as it comes out of the dryer. I’d like to have my girlfriends over for coffee at the wooden table and to hang with the baby. I’d like to go out to the movies and remember my notebook and pen. I’d like to put outfits together and stretch. I’d like to show up a little more in life and a little less online. I’d like to finish more poems. I’d like to shoot at least one small movie, and finish the script for the larger one. To map out for my friend a few images in my mind for us to film. Oil wells, and my daughter dancing, a woman turning her head to the camera, shielding one eye from the sun on the beach. I’d like to draw the morning in and I’d like to have faith that it might all work out. The day coming clear.I spend the morning reading with my daughter. I spend the morning washing and drying and folding the laundry. I burn my wrist on the corner of my coffee mug, carrying too many things at once. I spend the morning crosslegged and visiting with Ganesha. Bowing to the self, folded hands, head to the ground, surrendering. And you?

Basohli miniature, c. 1730, National Museum, New Dehli