What makes a life? Experiences. All of them. Miniscule and grand. Good and bad. We are their sum. Walking up the hill with heavy bags full of groceries. Feeling thankful you are able. The McIntosh tasting like lemons after the Gravensteins. Looking up from a book at dusk and noticing everything in the room is glowing pale pink. Responding to this headache. Not letting it win. Writing. Editing. Reading. Making. Anger in response to what wasn't, or what was. Denial. Acceptance. The three nasty little poems you wrote the morning the world felt less than welcoming. Quick rough little drafts. Deciding to post only one, and then taking it down, and putting it back up again, and taking it down once more. Fearing what it might say about you. Listening. Deciding to bring the one back to life, and allow the other two to join it. Memories. The box stitch in blue.
Three Quick and Nasty Little Poems