Here's hoping this Christmas would turn out better.

Originally posted December 24, 2006.
[reposted because of this]

Most people have soundtracks of their lives. You all know what I'm talking about. As you lean for your first kiss, a song plays in your head, its beat matching the rhythm of your pulse. Even mundane things get their own songs. A walk in the park, a lazy rainy afternoon, a long pointless meeting. Songs shift and shuffle faster than you can tweak your ipod.

But I, who have no rhythm, no sense of melody, play the silent notes of poetry in my head. This poem screamed out to me when I hastily left Starbucks to gather my bearings. Yup, you all know what I'm talking about.

THE TAXI
by Amy Lowell

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?