New Years Demands

last january

we carefully stepped over the mush in the parking lots

batting our huge glittering eyelashes
at the frothy white sky
laughing obnoxiously at each other,
burgundy lips open wide,
and we threw our heads back and hoped
the bobby pins in our hair would suffice the day
(most of us wouldn’t attempt to fix them;
we had all run out of hairspray)

it was a new era
and I had payed enough attention to know
this kind of history repeats itself
but is, miraculously, better every time it comes back around:
this time the mood was golden
and blood red
and shimmering maroon
it was nothing less than living art
and I remember smiling to myself, knowing:

independence doesn’t have a habit of growing
like a pink rose in the middle of a foreign jungle;
it grows like the lion there, the king of it all
prowling around until it is enough
to be able to do so without being teased
for being small
for being innocent
for being “cute”

it grows until it requires the living space to continue
and then it goes on a killing spree
in pursuit of the gazelles
that taunted it when it was young.
independence is an animal
that has been flourishing deep inside of me
for a year, and now,
its mane is blowing violently in this winter wind,
snarling viciously at the ones who threatened it.

last january was laughing until our stomachs ached,
and I don’t know about them,
but my giggles were feeding my inner animal.
this january, I expect nothing less of a few good laughs,
a revival,
and a massacre.
(in no particular order.)

by courtney covey


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