10 Things, Without the Metaphor #2
Number one, an old man, heavyset, in a sleeveless sweatshirt, standing on his stoop at 6:15 am, looking at the blue light of his phone, not out to get the newspaper, standing there maybe out of habit.
Number two, the busy birds, too many to count, rebounding high pitched tweet-chirp-tweet-chirps.
Number three, the dew on the chair has made the back of my legs wet and the sweat on my hand sticks me to the paper as I write. It’s humid today.
Number four, it’s humid, I said that already, but seriously, it’s November 2 at 6:45 and there are streaks of salty sweat running from my temple and more between my breasts and I just felt a trickle in the little dip of my lower back.
Because Number five, I did go running this morning, just short intervals for .75 of a mile. I walked for the rest of the way.
Number six: a crow calls in 3’s, “caw, caw, caw”.
Number seven: I hear dripping water, soft, intermittent pats, but I see the pond is still. I don’t think it’s going to rain.
Number eight, caw, caw, caw.
Number nine and it’s not too early to hear the whoosh of traffic half a mile away. Commuters I’ll only join for carpool, not to the office. A vehicle without a muffler accelerates hard.
Ten is the memory that it took a chain of changes to make this morning being outside to listen and write at 6:50 on the new Mondayest day of the week. I’m glad I walked bravely into this light.
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Notes from a week of poetry…November 8, 2015 at 4:19 pm
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