Sunday Scribblings: Life Is Good

Saturday

We kept breakfast simple:
pumpernickel toast
with peanut butter
for him
and a rice cake
with egg salad for me.

He puttered
on his boat
I changed the bed
and dusted.

We took a drive
to St. James City
for a light lunch:
beach bread for him
and creamy pumpkin
soup with cinnamon
swirl croutons for me.

He fished off the dock
and caught a few snappers
that he threw back.
I sat in the sun
reading two letters
from a friend
and The Daughter
of Smoke and Bone.

We had cocktails
and chips and dip
on the porch
of our stilt house,
the setting sun
turning everything golden.

I broiled rice cakes
covered with spaghetti sauce
and mozzarella
for supper.
We ate outdoors
watching fish
jump for their meal
in the canal.

I went for a walk
as the moon rose.
He went inside
to the TV.

We got into our bed
with its clean sheets
and drifted off
to Downy dreams.

3WW: Drank, Hitch, Muster

Hallway to Death

She drank a bottle
of vodka

after the doctor
refused

to give her any more
Percosets.

We found her
on the floor

with a broken
wrist.

At the hospital
she complained

of snakes invading
her room

and hitching themselves
to her underarms

and wrapping
around her chest.

There was a broken pipe
under her bed

flooding the room.
Every nurse

was eyeing her man
and he was chasing

all of them. Weeks
later the hallucinations

eased. She remembered
nothing. And even

a stint in rehab
wasn't enough for her

to muster the willpower
to live without pills

and alcohol. She
has lost weight.

Her skin looks healthier
now that she's not

all dehydrated. Her back
is feeling better.

She's eighty years old.
But her remaining years

seem like an empty
corridor she has to walk

down alone
if she has to be clean.

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.