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