SPLASH
I wanted to be a TV star,
not a raindrop.
Maybe next time I'll come out on top.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
The Widow's Ballad
Now the black crows circle round and round
Above that patch of fresh turned ground,
And my hands are blistered from the work
Of bending low and shoveling earth.
My brow is wet and my back aches
And when I laugh my voice shakes.
Tired, I sit me down on the grass
And wonder how much time has passed.
How long since I did it, the stone in my hand?
I can't tell you, perhaps the crows can.
Two birds on the ground, ten more in the sky,
Squawking and flapping will draw curious eyes.
Folks in town will see far on such a clear day,
And old man Brown not two miles away . . .
He'll come to see why crows circle my place
And I'll laugh to see the look on his face.
Folks from town will frown at my long linen skirt,
Spattered up and down with blood and loamy dirt.
"To think," they'll say, "she could do it at all,
Her so quiet spoken and small."
"To think she did it, her so mild
And eight months pregnant with his child."
Now the black crows circle round and round
Above that patch of fresh turned ground,
And my hands are blistered from the work
Of bending low and shoveling earth.
My brow is wet and my back aches
And when I laugh my voice shakes.
Tired, I sit me down on the grass
And wonder how much time has passed.
How long since I did it, the stone in my hand?
I can't tell you, perhaps the crows can.
Two birds on the ground, ten more in the sky,
Squawking and flapping will draw curious eyes.
Folks in town will see far on such a clear day,
And old man Brown not two miles away . . .
He'll come to see why crows circle my place
And I'll laugh to see the look on his face.
Folks from town will frown at my long linen skirt,
Spattered up and down with blood and loamy dirt.
"To think," they'll say, "she could do it at all,
Her so quiet spoken and small."
"To think she did it, her so mild
And eight months pregnant with his child."
Friday, February 13, 2004
Lying down to sleep
with this cold in my head -
drowning in bed.
No surprise I'm sick again with the bug that's been making it's way around the small office in which I work finally getting to me a few days ago. Of course, being sprayed by germs on the bus last month probably didn't improve my chances for good health here near the heart of February. Then there was the fellow sneezing in the elevator last week. Just me and him and the monster made of phlegm which squirmed behind the mask of his face, going up.
And coming down with the shivery chills and fever flushes of ague, a soft ache massaging my muscles, and the same viscous creature growing in the cavities of my skull.
Where does it all come from? I want to breathe!
What else?
Good news came in twos this Friday the 13th. First from Molly (Sarah's youngest and a sweeter creature you would be hard pressed to find) and then from my boss (it's nice to respect the man who signs your check). All that we here at Notes from a Life in Progress are revealing about these items at the moment is that they regard, respectively, health and money. More later. Maybe.
Hmmmmm. . . If it's already Friday the 13th of February, then February 4th must have come and gone right by. And no mention that, as a blogger, I turned 2 years old on that date.
Now we are two. In blog years, at least.
with this cold in my head -
drowning in bed.
No surprise I'm sick again with the bug that's been making it's way around the small office in which I work finally getting to me a few days ago. Of course, being sprayed by germs on the bus last month probably didn't improve my chances for good health here near the heart of February. Then there was the fellow sneezing in the elevator last week. Just me and him and the monster made of phlegm which squirmed behind the mask of his face, going up.
And coming down with the shivery chills and fever flushes of ague, a soft ache massaging my muscles, and the same viscous creature growing in the cavities of my skull.
Where does it all come from? I want to breathe!
What else?
Good news came in twos this Friday the 13th. First from Molly (Sarah's youngest and a sweeter creature you would be hard pressed to find) and then from my boss (it's nice to respect the man who signs your check). All that we here at Notes from a Life in Progress are revealing about these items at the moment is that they regard, respectively, health and money. More later. Maybe.
Hmmmmm. . . If it's already Friday the 13th of February, then February 4th must have come and gone right by. And no mention that, as a blogger, I turned 2 years old on that date.
Now we are two. In blog years, at least.
Monday, February 02, 2004
The blue dog returned later that night.
Gordon gaped, amazed as the animal (or was it?) limped toward the veranda and squatted at the bottom step, casting it's rueful gaze up at him through the late Autumn twilight.
The lantern above the parlor door flickered. Light and shadow dosie-doed around the veranda and Gordon rose from his creaking chair to wary feet.
"Hey, what's wrong with the lights?" Darby's voice drifted from a distant room.
Gordon glanced from the dog to the faltering lantern and back again. But where the animal (it was an animal, right?) had been only vacant shadow remained, a darkness made more complete by the dog's absence than the night which deepened around it.
Gordon gaped, amazed as the animal (or was it?) limped toward the veranda and squatted at the bottom step, casting it's rueful gaze up at him through the late Autumn twilight.
The lantern above the parlor door flickered. Light and shadow dosie-doed around the veranda and Gordon rose from his creaking chair to wary feet.
"Hey, what's wrong with the lights?" Darby's voice drifted from a distant room.
Gordon glanced from the dog to the faltering lantern and back again. But where the animal (it was an animal, right?) had been only vacant shadow remained, a darkness made more complete by the dog's absence than the night which deepened around it.
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