by Christine Adams Beckett

2014 was feted
With exhaustion:
A collective fatigue
Of a complicated year
Of regrets and pride
In a pool of deluded people,
Drunken enthusiasts
Content to seize
This opportunity
To convince themselves
That an invitation is proof
Enough of a full life.

Others, introverted,
Stand dumb-struck and
Contemplating a most
Thoughtful party favor:
A Roman coin,
A Latin god in relief:
Janus, of transitions,
Two-faced and split
With one persona
Looking back
In reflection,
The other, forward
With hope, anxiety and
Recognition of change
We all face
On any given day.

One guest holds it
On a clothed cocktail table,
Steadfast with a forefinger,
Flicks it with the
Free finger of the other hand
Forcing a spin
That results in a single,
Whole head, an
Optical illusion
Making contact with her
Own still face.

The whirling dervish,
A spinning god
reminds her
Of free will
And industry
And a single day
Of pause, reflection,
And considering
Janus as her own
Personal, straightforward

Hogmanay hogwash:
Scottish superstition
Whereby one
Can rely on the
Future by the
Luck of the first visitor
Of the new year:
May the first to cross
Your threshold
Be a tall, dark,
Handsome Scotsman,
Or the soul- searching
Harborer of uncertainty.

She privately pledges to
Seize present moments
With deliberate care.
Even this one:
Muffled with
Exaggerated voices,
Fuzzy with champagne
And shimmering with
Artificial light
Meant to brighten
The long nights
Following the winter solstice.