"Tell Me How Your Year Was."

A Poem by Mollie

Twelve months feeling funny.

In January, we felt new, but we weren’t really all that new; maybe we were recycled. In a way, we were simply trying to fight off the sickness, we just didn’t want to fall sick. Our bed was so chilly and sometimes we were too upset; it was hard to hold each other tight. The dance hall, it burned down, you know.

We slept through all of February, and we didn’t even realize it was February.

It was everything to watch you climb up that maple tree. Its buds were sprouting, and the sap kept you going. It was March, you see, and this was usually time for the Spring Fling, but what fun would it be to dance in ashes? It was almost warm, but we hated it, I still hate it. “Il a été le meilleur des cas, ce fut la fin des temps.”

April was a struggle. We thought in blue and saw in camouflage, everything was a mystery. It sounds lovely, but it wasn’t. My birthday was looked past, and you were so angry you broke your cereal bowl. It happens sometimes, it does.

Papers strewn all over my parents house, little water splatters that shaped out to two pairs of footprints. We opened the pool early, we would not close it early either. Or maybe we would. May always tends to send us overboard.

June. What is there really to say about June? It was beautiful. Thank you.

July was not much. It was bright and it was hot and you were not home for much of it. You were in Michigan for reasons unknown. You told me you would write, but I reckon the letters were just lost in the mail.

The humidity gets to you sometimes when you don’t even realize it’s there. It’s kind of excited, and it’s saying, “Wake up, sleepyhead! You have to see this, the world will belong to you if you follow this one simple rule!” I never was much of a morning person. I fell back asleep. And I suppose both of us saw that coming. If anything, August was a humid letdown.

September and October, well, they kind of blend together. There were a lot of parties, and a lot of drunken fights. Summer didn’t last, that was to be expected, though. We almost returned to school, but our uniforms were left behind in the rush.

We wish we had, but we didn’t really have much to be thankful for in November. Things had started to fade; not much can save anything or anyone once they start to fade.

December tricked us. We were expecting snow, but it was warm. The warmest December in sixty-seven years, I think the weather man on channel five said. But on New Years, that was when things got cold. And at that point, nothing could save us, it was done. It was for the best, I think.