New Year's Eve Poem by Amy Marie

Throughout most of the lit-up night
The champagne hid locked against its will
Behind the wooden door of cold
Waiting for Age to produce
The key to it.

As a timid diamond that kept its shine under wraps
The key of silver
Rested in the purse between Age and Privacy.
Like a coin.
But not just any coin.

My gaze – like a volleyball of Bliss
I threw one way then the other.
Then the first way again.
Was it Age who bounced it back to me?
I hoped she would – so I believed so.

Meanwhile – the Christmas tree
Stood solemnly away from it all.
Waiting for
Its tired needles
To fall.

Or jump.