this morning
I pick up more shards of myself
and drop them in a cloche
when she was a child, she wondered
if different species of birds
understood each other’s calls
now there is no time
Snowflakes and windchimes…surely something magical is about to happen.
a large and wet maple leaf
slammed into my neck
and I was grateful
for the reminder
How do the clouds fall to the bottom of the pool?
Abandoned house.
On the porch, a wheelchair
Facing a brick wall.
Dead leaves
Still so pretty.
the yellow faces of those tiny red flowers
on my new companion, arthritis
pain in the morning
pain at night
books and films
my only light
on Frieda Hughes
Today I am reading some poems by Frieda Hughes for the first time. She has captured me.
Meat eaten, the bones have dried.
Blood dust has settled like powder
With plaster from the ceiling,
And the tools are silent. ~from “The Smile” by Frieda Hughes
So, you see what I mean.
tulips give the old building some class
Susan Sonnen 