Oh, how I wish I had written this! Other writers humble me!


I have tried hard to have appropriate feelings

I have folded them away like sweaters.
Kept my distance from the moon, visited the sick.

I am proud of the life in my head. Nobody knows
the garden I've seen. I am tender with the suburb.

Some days even the ceiling worries me, the way
it keeps the roof on.

I only cry when the polar bears get to me.
The ones stranded on the melting ice.

Otherwise I'm kept in line by the steady curve
of my driveway, the tight fists of the roses. I can easily
converse
about the sweet peas and our eventual disintegration.

The sky has more to say to me than I could
ever hear, given the restricted space between
houses. Frogs sing at night and the whine of the train.

When moths circle the porch light
I think they might be coming for me.

Susan Denning
By Permission

I will post her bio as soon as I can get over the technical difficulties.

The Greatest Generation

Courage is Fear holding on a minute longer.

George S. Patton

Indolence
High summer seems a time for it,
for nothingness

abnegation of ambition which has
driven me
far too long.

Better my dog’s intention,
to follow
bliss of sensation
to drowse in heat
to drink when thirsty, which is to say

always

to revel in relaxation, to
let that sweet
sleep creep
into me and

Not. Care.

that I am

Not. Productive.

today.

High summer.

May I know no song but thanks.