How do we honor a new year? First, a cleansing. In “Burning the Old Year,” Palestinian American poet Naomi Shihab Nye invites us to transition. I appreciate how this poem balances the grief of loss with the tenderness of loving what is gone, and honoring the space that remains. In its last three lines, this poem offers a meditation on how to approach the things we did not do last year, whether the things we left unsaid, the goals we didn’t accomplish, or other miscellaneous tasks incomplete. Are they kindling for this year’s fire? Or will we carry them, heavy and sooty, like coal?

To prepare for what’s ahead, let’s turn to the work of Lucille Clifton. She passed in 2010, but her work has found immortality on social media. I don’t think I have a friend who hasn’t shared a screenshot of “won’t you celebrate with me” in a birthday carousel post (including myself). And each new year, “i am running into a new year” takes over my feed, as if the urgency in its prose compels it to run haplessly, recklessly across the internet. I am thirty-six this new year, so it feels particularly resonant.

You’ve probably seen it, so instead of focusing on it in this newsletter, let me turn your attention to “blessing of the boats,” which was written while Clifton was at St. Mary’s College of Maryland. It refers to the Blessing of the Fleet, an annual observation that commemorates the Dove landing in the city in 1634, carrying the first English settlers to the shores of Maryland. It also commemorates our own journeys through life, and invites us to face the new year and trust in the unseen forces that are assured to bring safe harbor.

Speaking of social media, poet Kate Baer shares her simple and straightforward work directly on Instagram, which is how I came across “New Year.” She had posted it with the caption “my New Year’s resolution is to stay alive,” a refreshing take in the midst of people sharing their highlight reels and bold resolutions. Can we remember that staying alive is the real magic? Especially for those of us who have struggled with suicidality, or are fighting to stay healthy and sound? There is so much potential in a new year. It can feel overwhelming, all these possibilities. This poem reminds us that we can cherish the potentiality itself. Its value is not in how we wield it, only that it’s here. That can be more than enough.

As I wrote last week, I’ve become less fond of writing resolutions. I prefer to steal them, shamelessly hoping the wisdom of those more articulate and determined than myself to rub off on me. One of those is the incomparable June Jordan, whose frank and uncompromising prose has made me feel more confident in my defiance of what does not serve me. “Resolution #1,003” both beckons and sets boundaries, both an invitation and a warning that seems to say “you better come correct, 2026.”

Another poet who encourages us to meet the new year with defiance and ferocity is Carrie Williams Clifford, a Black woman poet born in 1862. Her poem “The New Year” is a rallying cry for all of us, but reflects her personal fight for racial equity through her work with the Niagara Movement and the Ohio State Federation of Colored Women. Here, the “we” isn’t looking for mere equality, but god-like immortality; unbridled power and potential. I love the boldness of this poem and how outlandish it may have felt in those times. I want more of this energy in my life this year.

As you plan for the year ahead, remember that this moment–steeped in newness and opportunity–is perpetual. We can enjoy a new year each moment and every day, choose to start anew on a Tuesday afternoon or resolve for something greater whenever we please. Bryan Obinna Joseph Okwesili, a queer Nigerian poet and storyteller, reminds us of this in “[New Year’s Eve Poem] Like a Semicolon,” using the punctuation in text and symbol reminds us that if we are here we can keep writing our future, a helpful meditation for us as individuals and as any member of marginalized communities that persist against systemic oppression.

Which would you add to this list? I’d love to hear yours–reply to this email to share.