Saturday, April 22, 2023
042223c
Outside, the trees are buzzing
their slow sap-driven Life
arrows fly from each birdhouse
little deaths of seed and bug
slowly drying ponds
nurseries of life's minutiae
mint and thyme spreading
from where the lady of the house
vainly tried to fill
brown islands in the green
and I, prisoner of the sick bed,
recline in ill-concealed impatience
to be there among them
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1 comment:
Suggest you read Shirley Jackson's non-scary 'Life Among Savages', her adjusting to suburban life, semi-rural, postwar....
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