Friday, July 8, 2011

A Question of When

I thought it was late but it was early. The game board we use is warped as if left out in rain or just old. In my dream, you died and I missed the memo. I am never sure if it is okay to cry. Five in a row.

The chickens slept in, content at last with sawdust. Unfamiliar sun in the middle of June. The neighbors leave their barn door open a crack. Swallows loop in and out and cross the sky. I still don't know who was having a party last night but I'm glad I wasn't invited.

Dreams are poor guides. I woke early and did other people's chores. God is not who I think God is but I forget that all the time. No gas for the mower. In the corner of the yard, a plosion of bluets.

The cats wake you and you scratch their shoulders, making them purr. The smell of coffee at 6 a.m. is definitely not an illusion! A lot of people say I read too much. I stripped outside and hung muddy clothes on the line. We are all going home, it's a question of when.

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