My busy mind won’t fit in brackets.
My house is filled with constant racket -
a toddler crying, a preteen whining,
I miss the sunshine and outdoor dining,
the feel of sand beneath my fingers,
and cresting waves. But winter lingers,
as if it hadn’t said all it wanted
and so it tarries behind undaunted…
The white outside assaults my iris
and haunts my dreams behind closed eyelids.
I miss the gamut of greens and yellows,
accompanied by songs of sparrows,
the sunlight filtered by see-through curtains…
I miss the days when I felt certain
that I could write with some persistence
the world I wanted into existence.
This, too, rings hollow. Too much complaining.
The truth is knotty, but I’m maintaining…
It’s nearly March now. I can be thrifty.
They say on Sunday we might hit fifty.