I'm feeling very much a part of a vigorous, quick-moving flow and I'm also trying to stand steady within the movement.
I cleaned up a lot in 2016. I'm still watching it all.
And I'm still working.
When I graduated high school I was invited to read a poem at the graduation ceremony. I chose "I am a work in progress" by jessica care moore. I still remember the last line, "i am not finished yet."
I won't be.
I'm going through a notebook. I found some poem scraps jotted down during the precious few days in the West Virginia cabin. Here they are.
living is hungry
it's best when it's a little uncomfortable
a little cold
gritty
relief is best sudden
and unexpected
(like breeze or rain)
no time to anticipate or
question
just blown about
wondering
open mouthed
wide eyed
"Home"
swept floors
wood smooth
open windows
with screens for breeze
running water-- hot and cold--
cats, a few, healthy & playful
orderly cupboards
folded quilts in a closet
bills paid
hooks for the keys
herbs grow
fruit trees too
small scale world
microclimates
known
still intriguing
clean dishrags flats on the line
a cardinal passes above
with her my grandmother
her rose glass her love of
cardinals her memory a bird
a storm is coming
phillips glass playing. it sounds
like water tumbling and
threatening
the cats are assembled
throughout the room
maurice on the wood floor
george on the bed
an open novel on Frank
Lloyd Wright
a skipping song
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