In 2020, I took a poetry class in hopes to reinvigorate my writing practice. It worked — for a time. Now, I go back to those poems and rearrange them, moving and changing words the same way I tinker with knick-knacks on display.
This poem came from some sort of prompt about the little things that lighten my load. As the snow/sleet/rain comes down for the 17th hour straight, as I quickly approach my due date, I remind myself to hold onto the good and let the rest fall around me as it may.
In this world of Sundays,
leaves become electric
just for us.
The perfect creamy bagel;
a hot, strong cup of coffee;
the paper in our laps;
a walk beneath a perfect blue sky stamped with bright leaves
All mornings should be like this!
(should you be so lucky)
The rainywet specks on the window
it can sound like an ocean outside
but it will fall in a heavenly rhythm
(again: just for us)
to drill down:
The rainbow that M&Ms make in ice cream,
when you see a dog on the street and it insists on walking up to you,
laying on the ground and watching the snow fall,
a hug from a dearly beloved,
a deep cry after it’s been punching at your throat,
watching the ocean curtsy forward, revérence back,
and music
and music
and music
it all feels like a ballet — even cars at an intersection —
if your eyes are wide enough.
ahhh! thank you! keep these coming!