in an open field.
One where  pen is my cane
sun heart, and birds its beat.
I nurture seeds of words carefully,
watering them with tears and smiles.

I tend to diligently to sow
with these phases that grow
and my crop becomes a poem.

Am

looking at the ceiling

eyes are fixed on the

white rotating blades

turning around slowly

......oh so slowly

......the monotony

..........hypnotizes me



everything around me

every sound or action

is moving like a snail



the ticktocks of the clock

are droning

the water inside the kettle

is boiling without a sound, i think

thin slices of pork marinated

in soy sauce and lime...frying,

doesn't scare me...the fight between

heated oil and soy sauce

is not as noisy...not as violent

as it had been in the past mornings



i feel them all...slow and hushed

..........as a snowfall in winter

i am thinking of winter this early hour

...yet, it's summer...so hot and humid

...........hot coffee has failed to alter

.......the weary, and dreary airs

....of this early wednesday morning...





Sally



Copyright Feb. 21, 2018

rrab