Something
cold is in the air,
an aura of ice
and phlegm.
All day I’ve built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds
and sucks its thumb.
The little red thumb
goes out of sight.
And I wonder about
this lifetime with myself,
this dream I’m living.
I could eat the sky
like an apple
but I’d rather
ask the first star:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who’s responsible?
eh?
Hiking the all too familiar trail near my house yesterday, salty tears slid down my cheeks moistening my mask. I've been emotional all week counting down to vaccination day. I'm buoyant with relief and joy to be at this milestone, but I also feel immense sadness and loss. So many have died and we have all been cut off from living — gathering, sharing, experiencing. I'm still six weeks away from immunity, so I don't anticipate big changes in the near future, but I know flying will be a reality this summer and for that I'm truly grateful.
