when i was younger
and thought myself clever
i mused that the owl,
in all her purported wisdom,
was asking the wrong question.

if one is to stay up all night ruminating,
shouldn’t her mantra be a bemused and heartfelt “why?”


now i am older.
and the questions leave me wanting.

except for maybe “who?”

(and perhaps “what?”
because there is something to be said
for caramel mochas
and shades of apple green
and endearing little love poems.)


but these days it’s mostly “who?”