Last year’s resolutions are in the garage
stuffed in a Mason jar. They send their regrets.
What’s good for today might not be best in March,
say, or August when the hot summer sun
is beating down my resolve to clean up
the debris in my life. I’m older than I ever
thought I’d be, and maybe that’s enough.
Anyone who deserved an apology got one.
I adopted a dog. I let people merge into my lane.
When sunrise sprawls across the horizon,
I’ll fill the empty bowl of morning with pink
sky and bird song, go out and make a day of it.
Victoria Melekian lives in Carlsbad, California. Her stories and poems have been published in Mudfish, Literary Orphans, Atlanta Review, Valparaiso Fiction Review, Word Riot, and other anthologies. She’s been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and was a runner-up in the 2018 Bath Flash Fiction Novella-in-Flash Award. Her story “What I Don’t Tell Him” aired on NPR. She’s twice won a San Diego Book Award. For more, visit http://www.victoriamelekian.com.