November 18, 2020

Geese-song in the sun behind me. Blood-rose riding the living air. Squirrel-alarm, upside down, from the neighbor’s tree.

Something roars in the distance. A long-held note. Too steady to be natural. Only Man makes things so static.

I ebb. I crescendo. I blaze like our wintering garden.

Please, let me be waking up.

13 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. MarthaS
    Nov 18, 2020 @ 09:43:32

    Welcome back.


  2. Kiki
    Nov 18, 2020 @ 09:45:46

    To be honest with you, Sandy Sue, I don’t understand a word of above. I’m just VERY HAPPY to hear from you – that’s all….. Be well. Let’s not loose hope and the sure knowledge that some sort of normality WILL return.
    Love, Kiki


  3. Carina
    Nov 18, 2020 @ 09:47:21

    “Look closer. This is what poetry is. A desk marked by a curious orbit of coffee stains. The trash bin overflowing with receipts. The walls, painted a ludicrous, caffeinated purple. A single geranium on the verge of a vigorous bloom. Words like fire. A woman pausing at a window for stories. A fertile, overlarge lawn. A cloud of longing posing as a love letter. – Maya Rachel Stein


  4. Writer Lori
    Nov 19, 2020 @ 04:53:33

    Sending good juju streaming your way, Sandy! Xox


  5. Sawsan
    Nov 19, 2020 @ 05:20:41

    Please, let us all be waking up!


  6. kirizar
    Nov 21, 2020 @ 22:28:59

    This is a very sensory verse. I can totally relate to the squirrels hanging upside down. I had five in my yard today decimating the bird feeders.

    And the human hum/annoying drone of leaf blowers is enough to make me turn feral and want to whack the things with a club.

    I too hope you wake from a wintering garden into a spring of rebirth. And, if it takes many months in the getting here, I hope you dream of sunshine until then.


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