Fighting for rest
through a
smog-haze of
irritation
led me to
search for the
sweetest waste of time.
“I will go find some strawberries and bake a beautiful cake!”
***
The dishes won’t
disappear and
the recycling will
linger unsorted and
mundane days
will
do their best
to calcify hope.
***
The car was new
and the day possessed
a certain
slant of simple
joy, that
nostalgia which
I ache for and
abhor.
I got lost.
I moved on, forcing
my teeth to
unclench and
my jaw to slacken
at Ohio’s verdancy
and unsung grace.
“There was a time I wanted something much different.”
***
The swamp is
enveloped in
lily pads and
secret roads.
***
I tiptoed through
the first option,
aware
at once
that the market
lacked that
palpitation of red.
Peppers and baked goods,
peaches,
blueberries,
nut none of the
lushness
I imagined, demanded.
“Where the heck are the strawberries?”
***
What is the
point
at which
expectations
quaintly twirl
into
different,
tame,
dreams?
***
Second option:
a bit further
but I saw them
from miles
back.
They yawned at
me like
baby birds,
expectant,
I think.
How very grown up
to say,
“I’ll take this carton.”
How very youthful
to choose
based on one
oddly shaped
lump of plump
flesh,
ugly crown.
“Are you staying cool in the heat?”
***
The cake
wasn’t
perfect and
a few were
mushy but
I found the
strawberries,
and made something
good.
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