Blackberry summer to
warm bagel winter,
coffee black as the sky at five
(have I become so typical?)
Covering, covered.
Performance not guaranteed.
Is it ever?
At least I've found footing,
a sort of temporary zen.
I'll have it in January.
A home all to myself for a month,
working a show all day
and living in peaceful solitude at night.
Perhaps then I'll find
whatever it is I need
to write a play, a screenplay,
a song or a story.
I have so many ideas
and they get shoved away;
the same way my healthful diet does
when I get around a box of turtles.
3 comments:
Your prose is lovely and funny.
You are an amazing girl.
You eat turtles?! What about Ralph Wellington? How could you eat a turtle so happy?!
Oh, and I love your poetry. It delights me. Always have. I can't wait to see you! Clay and I were going to surprise you at the airport tonight, but logistics screwed us as hard as ever.
You're a real writer, woman. Mad props.
Post a Comment