Again, the dog is sick. Again,
the emergency room, the long
wait with worry, without answers.
Dried oak leaves from last year somehow
found each other, curled together,
spooning like yinyang, light and dark.
Asparagus is barely there,
whip thin stalks harvested too soon,
pieces jumbled like a puzzle.
Tired or fatigued? They’re not the same.
Tired, I decide, watching flowers
forced by sudden heat into blooms.
The rhododendron buds new leaves.
Scilla & grape hyacinth bloom
intensely blue through rotting leaves.
Walking the dog through the green park,
I sit briefly on a park bench
and fall asleep. Then stagger home.
Resurrected, somewhat, I know
I can walk around the block. But,
can I twice? Do I have a choice?
Wake. Two hours to dress. Two hours more
to standing. Then a four hour nap.
A moment of grace. Finally food.
I remember the Prufrock line “my life is measured in coffee spoons” the quiet routine of daily life
Yes, that’s a painful one.
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