3WW: Figment, Inclined, Vulnerable

The sun is a figment
dissipated into memory.

Rusty trees are reflected
in the steel water.

Fog floats over the mountain
and blends into the gray sky.

I'm sitting in my son's living room
next to my in laws who are napping.

You might think this weather
makes me vulnerable to depression

but I am listening to soft snores
watching rain drip from the deck furniture.

My feet are inclined on the leather
La Z Boy and my fingers

are tapping away on my iPad
happy to be writing this poem.

My Back Yard for Sunday Scribblings

My Back Yard

Is a strip
of aluminum foil
twinkling
in the sun.

I sit on the stairs
watching
fish jump
in the canal.

Circular waves
drift toward shore
then die
like ideas

for this poem.
The prompt
lured.
I bit.

But it wasn't enough.
I'm writing
nothing but
widening blankness.

Paper for One Single Impression

Paper

I reach
into the bottom
left drawer
of my desk

to find
a sheet
of paper.
The one

I pull out
has a flowered
border. I
add a few more

flower stickers
then choose
a coordinating
pen. I begin

to write
a letter
to my friend.
I tell her about

my latest adventures
in care taking
in-laws, news
of my son

and daughter
and granddaughter,
what my husband
is up to,

opinions, hopes,
dreams, frustrations,
recipes, the minutiae
of my life.

I address the envelope,
add more stickers
and a matching
postage stamp

then hop on my bike
and pedal to the post
office. I slip it
into the mail slot

then check my box.
Sitting there
like sunshine
is a letter from her.

I continue on
to the beach,
get settled,
then sit

on the sand,
open her envelope,
and feel her life
float around me.

3WW: Eject, Impact, Render

On Our Fortieth Anniversary

The old VCR tape
is stuck
in the machine.

If I press play
it growls at me.
If I hit eject

nothing happens.
The impact of this
is slight

since I rarely watch
movies.
But, just knowing

about it
is driving me nuts.
I guess

it's time to surrender
and buy
a new DVD player.

Language for One Single Impression

Language

Phrases of accusation
like bombs
exploded in my brain
all day.

I ranted
a ribbon of griefs
to the bed
as I changed it
and to the dishes
immersed
in sudsy death.

My complaints
slid down
the length
of the broom
and left a trail
of resentment
on the linoleum.

I was ready.

When you came home
I was spent.
We watched TV
in silence,
the language
of our life.

Present for Sunday Scribblings

Present

Today was wrapped in pale silver paper.
It rained from the time
I woke up
alone
to this moment
when I'm sitting
by myself
in the living room.

I took a quick trip
to Walmart to buy
a bookcase
then came home to put
it together with a little help
from my husband.

I ate leftover spaghetti
for supper with a glass of wine,
the lamp light reflecting
in it like a red sunset.

I walked under my umbrella
alone
for a half hour
through aluminum foil puddles.

My husband is in bed
wasting his time
watching The Big Bang
and here I am
typing away
enjoying the last hours
of this gift of a day.