Slammed Shut

Why is it

that the door to January

is always

so

heavy

each day seems to plod along

like a worm

whom is imitating a wet noodle,

half stuck to the floor,

then dry before it can reach

the finish line.

Out my window

the once nepenthe world

has become shrouded in gloom

and cold

and dark

especially since

the magical spark of holiday lights

is gone.

It is in the midst of this seasonal affliction

the winter seems eonian

and I find myself lachrymose

It is only

when the 31st dawns

and the month

that feels akin to a year

is finally reaching its zenith

that I can arise

refreshed

and renewed

ready for a new door to open

as I slam the door of January

shut