Wednesday, March 8

Yesterday clouds crouched over the city like tigers ready to pounce. Today the air is warmer and the sky is blue. This morning with a bad start, sick stomach and tired eyes, overheard conversations and a tumble down the front steps.

Trying to fill the day with knitting and cleaning. Trying to make that enough. Sweaters drying on the deck, dishes waiting in the sink. Sit on sandy steps. Watch trucks take trash.

Hope for a better afternoon. Hope it is better before noon. Hope for better.

1 comment:

John Claudio said...

I've been struggling lately, trying to write "prose poems." Not quite a poem, and not quite prose, right? Then what the hell is it?

You wrote one here. That much I am sure of.