Armistice

Slowly, slowly

my days are moving

toward what

I want them to be

soon, that table

which causes me

grief

because it reminds me of my father

will be gone

 

I will arise at dawn

and put on a pot of soup

stretch my limbs

like a plant unfurling

in the light of the window

I will surround myself with stories

and salacious old women

and know the peace I have found

is my own

 

One Comment

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  1. No one has called me a salacious old woman… I think I like it!

    Like

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