We are locked inside the house
its been weeks
ive stopped looking at the calendar
we are drawing with colored pencils
dancing to REM.
new neighbors left a card in the mailbox
six new paintings are in the studio
Projects still in motion
washing lots of items
crunchy snow at the end of driveway
another trap
i like listening to Bill Frisell
my paternal grandmother liked this song….I Heard it Through the Grapevine
she had a hard thumbnail & smoked Long cigarettes from a soft red pouch
i remember what it smelled like before it was lit.. the loose flakey tobacco
I don’t smoke anymore
there are a lot of things I don’t do anymore
some habits are still with me like ghosts
not like the ones my daughter pretends to be.. the other kind, the ones that can make an ordinary moment feel like fire is swirling in my chest
takes a few minutes or a few days to shake it
I’ve always tried to make those feelings go away
I barely graduated high school. I was busy smoking in the girls room. I even have the letter from Mr. Hino to be reminded
its tucked away with those field hockey awards
it all gets tucked away
in a bottle
That’s filled with soot
today the sun came out
