creative ramblings & reverie

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Writing Spaces

In a summer garden . . .

image:  Pierre Bonnard, Le Bosquet


the chunky orange umbrella
at the mustard-colored house
I can avoid seeing, moving
my chair just six inches sideways

the ugly dark-souled plants
that have filled up
the lovely clean frame
of the bay window
that last week held just sky and sea
I can't help glancing at over and over
if I want to see the waves beyond

easy enough to overlook, really

but all day I have been aware
of the hour approaching
for the gathering across the street
for the man (husband, father)
who has just gone into hospice care

aware like breath itself
while buying mustard greens,
filling a jar with water, lavender,
paying especially tender attention
to my own husband's
     cotton stocking feet,
hearing the children's voices
in the summer distance
all but drowned out
by the falling of the waves