4

The New Year's Eve I cremated that chair whose back had snapped under a stranger's weight
(when everything meant something)
I demanded that my friends all write their failures down on multicolored paper torn in strips
to throw into my fire, licking blue around the toxic dripping plastic
and the bolts that held the seat in place (sometimes).
We burned the national election page by page and beer by beer
hoping we could work some backward voodoo
and when we'd gotten properly lit up I tossed in all I had of you in one sealed envelope.

poof.

like it would cauterize it. stanch the healing and the hurt.
like grasping at my homemade superstitions would ...
i don't know
turn your head.
i still wanted to turn your head.
like burning all the evidence would stop the year from ending.
ash to ash.