dreams float around the bottom of cold naked mugs
waiting a wash of fresh cobalt glaze
algorithms try to narrow my world view
as I push outward from this digital burlap bag
I start the first day with a clean kitchen sink and fresh sponge,
scrubbing scuff marks from Christmas eve’s cast iron stew pot
still fragrant with lamb, fennel, and garlic,
I squeeze a lemon, add sea salt, and bring it all to a boil
one tea light burns beyond its plastic holder as a stick
of copal turns to ash on a bed of stale coffee beans
ornaments hang from the tree more like dumbbells
than silver bells, and my daughter builds a nest
under the table for spent figurines from advent calendars
that soon I will roll into storage totes with the hope of return
I take a sip of lukewarm tea, and wonder if time comes out of the clock hot
only to grow cold, each tick the passage of itself
what shades of arctic, cerulean, lapis, azure, indigo into midnight
the past year becomes as edges soft blur like rabbit fur in my mind
the darkest hour turns over violet edges and curls with steam rising,
dawn’s stirring light warms time still steeping in its own momentum
I turn the page on what is becoming an obsolete statement, gaze upon
white tiles of my months filling with the promise of hot tea and high-fired glaze
Adria Badagnani is a ceremonialist, poet, and mother who lives in Nehalem. Her background in music and performance informs her process of writing custom wedding ceremonies, spoken word pieces, and poetry. Her poetry can be found in Windfall: A Poetry of Place, We’Moon 2024, and Hoffman Center’s Word + Image.
