Happy New Year 🥳 Below is (probably) the only poem I’ve written about New Year’s. It will be in my next book, A Song of Glass. I’m about 80% done with this book so should self-publish it in the late spring or early summer of 2026.
A Haunting
I drift over to them,
but they don’t see me.
They’ve moved on.
Grandma’s playing piano,
head cocked back,
cigarette hanging from her lip.
She looks like she could be playing
in a speakeasy, but it’s just the front room
with the brown frieze davenport.
Grandpa leans down behind her,
arms bent, face buried
in hands that hold a harmonica.
He’s in his white, cotton-ribbed tank,
slacks, and polished loafers.
I hover over them, watching.
It’s New Year’s Eve.
My chest balls up like a fist.
If I sing, they won’t hear it.
If raise a glass,
it will only clink the glass
framing them
on the coffee table
in my living room.
A Wandering Minstrel 