Melancholia

Beginning anew, turning over
into another year, that old marked-up
calendar can be discarded now, can't it?
Only paper, dissecting your life with
appointments and events marked
indelibly as an aid to memory.
Two scheduled vacations
cancelled due to unforeseen
circumstances when it was fated
you would lose a close family member
to an early death. Following hard on
a beloved pet's death. Two messages
you have no wish to revisit. Nor
the pre-surgery appointment, much
less the surgery to follow, let alone
the agonizing recovery. A test for
auto license renewals reflecting
advanced age and a cautionary
government protocol. That call to
your lawyer to schedule an appointment
revising your last will and testament.
This, and so much else, reflects your
annus horribilis. Of course it is not
the calendar but your faithful diary
that records the unfortunate lapse in
familial accord leading to a schism.
If you discard the calendar in favour
of the new year and throw in your
diary, will life and memory expunge
the reality of those misfortunes so
convincingly that you can wish and
believe they were incidents in an awful
novel you've read and set aside . . . ?