Naragsac a baro nga tawen*

Bare, ash-colored 
branches; cold without 
a clean sheet of snow. 
You pull open 
all the drawers 
in the house anyway.

You want the old year
to let go of its icy
grip on your hand. 
With the other, you beat
a frantic tattoo 
on a metal pot lid.

Pelt the past with  
the red wax of cheese. 
Shut the lids of its 
always-looking-back eyes 
with a gold shower
of coins.

Croon sleep to it,
amnesia. How lucky 
you rememebered 
to buff one row 
of window panes
facing east.  


* Ilocano: Happy new year.

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