RSS Feed

Her Mind, It Wanders

That’s what they say at the home.
So I picture her, little old lady with
a knapsack on her back, touring Europe,
eating baguette and cheese and grapes
on a hillside, surrounded by her traveling
companions—not scruffy college kids, but
Earl who used to farm near her farm,
Alice from the room down the hall,
Robert, Mabel, and Louise, who always
sing along on days the music therapist
visits and plays the battered old piano
in the common room, songs they know
by heart. If she wanders, let her friends
come too. If she wanders,
let it be far into joy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

%d bloggers like this: