Poem for the End of the Year

In the seventh century Persian tile we saw,
the Tree of Life grew into the heads
of the lively animals.

My friend says there is only one prayer left us now:
“Don’t hurt anybody,” meaning,
“Don’t hurt us.”

This year the women’s skirts are long again,
the popular color: a cool green,
the Impressionists’ dream of order
only the mean red nails
and the high boots remind us
of the other side,
the one we didn’t want to think of:
the mother on the News the day after Christmas
who killed her children
and then burned their bodies
in a vacant lot.

When you leave the house, instead of saying:
“I am burning with love for you,”
I touch your face and say:
“Be careful.”

Moving into the decade,
our lives become more possible,
our possibilities narrow:
keeping out of harm’s way,
trying to do less harm.