I just haven’t been myself this year.I can’t think like I used to.It’s true, I haven’t been just myself.My precious daughter has been here,filling my arms,making me think of someoneother than myself.She entered the world in the middle of the … Continued
A different smelling spring–served quite chilled, then warmed quickly,with notes of melting snowsweet and earthy on the nose,this spring has woody undertones:fresh-aged ash, maple, oak, and pine,the neighborhood filled with sawdust fine.
A storm can break a tree,a chipper can tear it apart,leaving you with plenty of roomto make amends. Ask and you shall receive,pressed down and running over,and you’ll be forced (forced!)to share it with friends.
The washing machine is churning awaywhich means I’m getting-stuff-done today.I may be slouchedupon the couchbut I’m being productive, wouldn’t you say?
I’m developing an eye for what it all comes down to.I can know without a sigh the bottom line.There’s some things that I’ve regreted, but to know where this is headedhelps me see a little clearer in this time.
It’s been half a year,and I’m still writing here,although not as often.My schedule seems to soften.Now two weeks without poems,you’re wondering if I’m home.Yes, I’ve been here enough–just doing other stuff.
Today for free, there is a bed,two chairs (one plaid, and one that’s red),a box full of computer parts,someone who wants junk for art,a TV shelf with dark green doors,and tomorrow, there’ll be more.
On April twenty-two,two-thousand-thirteen,a cold wind blew,and the snow was mean.And I would guessthat no one would blame usfor just talking about the weather.This April is famous.
There’s a tiny little baby that some friends are foster-caring,and I got to hold him (I’m glad that they were sharing).He was so very tiny. I’m sure his parents will wishthat they could have held him so soon. They might … Continued
Since my baby likes to eatthe crumbs up off the floor,do I have to vacuum less,or should I vacuum more?