The new year is often pitched as a time of hope, but the reality is that, for some, the new year might be a time of dislocation, confusion and loneliness, particularly during these challenging times. In this poem by Natasha Rao, the speaker’s face is always lit up by the sun, by the light in a bathroom or by her friends. But she doesn’t feel connected to this artificial happiness. Instead, she is a “stranger to my own life.” The last line plays on the phrase “New Year’s resolution” and asserts that maybe not striving for anything during the new year is more than enough.

In the New Year

By Natasha Rao

Sun on my face and the train slips

into the tunnel. Dim reflection confronts.

Perhaps I am lacking in something substantial

like iron, or virtue. How easy it is to hurt

someone, how hard to face what comes after.

My face, strangely lit, in the bathroom

mirror. Surrounded by friends, I felt a queasy

aloneness, didn’t know whose lap to cry into.

Someone spat out an olive pit. Someone tore

streamers off the wall. I distorted

through the stemmed glass. Already exhausted

in this angular year, where I hover

like a stranger to my own life.

No resolution in any of it.