04.21.09/04.23.09

04.21.09

Tuesday, 5:00PM.
Back porch breezes dry my just-washed hair
Abigail Washburn whispering songs into my ear
Drink in hand
Reflecting upon a most ordinary day
Willing it to come alive, or
Willing myself to see its life:

The silent growing of plants in clay pots
The blooming bougainvilla
The winds changing, hinting
At the rains to come
The dance of sun and shadow

Counting out the beat of hours
The rhythm of a day
Of time that feels endless, empty
Of time that will add up
Will equal the sum that is
My life

I worry that I cannot always find
The beauty in my ordinary moments
In the passing of a quiet afternoon
In the lazy way the earth turns, slow
Waiting for me to notice
To turn with it, gracefully
To join the ancient dance of time

04.23.09

Overcrowdedbustrafficjammedimpossibly
in the mid-afternoon sun
scrunching, s h r i n k...i n g into
the seatbelt holder (broken, unused)
sequin-clad stranger sweating into me
exfoliating my shoulder
another stranger laughs
a shrillbushorn kind of laugh
patting my knees subconsciously
in her conversational enthusiasm
I sigh, try to breathe air
but find exhaust(exhausting) instead
stalecigarettebreathdirtunwashedhairgrime
I try to move
but sequins and sweat and seatbelts
surround me on all sides