Thursday, January 26, 2017

saved by

poems that come by email and social media
it shouldn't be this hard
poems that drift into my head, like smoke
the dog's fluffy head and
the cat coming for treats at 4am
soft purr and persistent paws
tiny birds that come to the feeder in the hour before dawn
the sound of bread crust crackling on the counter as it cools
children at the table doing homework and listening
what's a revolution?
the silence of snow falling outside my window
fresh smell of a new baby
soft head, grasping tiny fingers
old women who write

journalists who persist
parks that defy
women who march



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