Prompt: New Year's Poem

I remember my grandmother's poem about how her life was like a bubble rising in the stem of a glass of champagne.

I remember William Carlos Williams's poem about the plums in the ice box but I've forgotten if they'd been eaten.

I remember Frank O'Hara's waking up to the sun maybe writing about Billie Holiday.

I remember the sunflower who countest the steps of the sun as only William Blake could word so perfectly.

I remember The Raven, who, with one word, "nevermore" could send chills down my spine, over and over and over again. Thank you Edgar Allen Poe.

I remember Elizabeth Bishop's paintings more than her poetry, I'm afraid.

And Emily Dickinson, her eyes, the color of sherry that's left at the bottom of the glass are impossible to forget although I've never seen them myself.

I remember 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, possibly Wallace Stevens' most visual work, at least for me.

I remember so little of Billy Collins, except laughing out loud at something about a barking dog or two.

I remember Marianne Moore and H.D. and Edna St. Vincent Millay whose voice can be heard quavering on an old recording, reciting, "we were very tired, we were very merry. We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry."

I must remember, though, to confess that I stole this idea of remembering (re-embering) from Joe Brainard, whose book, "I Remember" is the most wonderful recounting of things he remembered, along with other works of his, including hilarious depictions of Nancy (of Nancy and Sluggo fame), lovely and amazing paintings and other images, all of which attest to his bravery, his genius and the absolute necessity to be remembered.