First I set out to retrieve the things left
behind
in the old year: my purse at one party
my sunglasses at another.
No, first you make spaghetti from scratch,
feeding pale dough into the metal machine
the flattening and the lengthening
and then the separating, strand and strand
and strand,
a mess of hair.
Later I carve the earth around the lemon,
the cherry
and the miniature Bay tree, turn the soil
over.
A new garden
for a new year.
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