Speak Low

Speak Low

at eventide

inside the café

I remove my

frayed pashmina

& shake out my

dark hewed hair

my reflection exploits

the impaired window

slender & pastel

safely fortified in a

heavy black turtleneck

& an old rosary rubbed

smooth & worn thin

a secret deep in pocket

I am served hot cocoa

& freshly baked brioche

I have a headache

& am heartsick

He is gone again

dancing is mourning

I take long languid

poems as companions

& speak low when asked

if I am incomplete

**

While everyone else in the free world was amping up for the Super Bowl today, I stayed confined to my cozy blankets and consumed a whole book. I couldn't put it down and today I didn't have to. I spent the better part of my Sunday lounging next to a sunny open window with my kitty, lost in the story of Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe. 

I sobbed through the last pages and peeled myself out of my slumber and got to doing the usual Sunday chores: laundry, cook and then write. I made a mess of Chinese food and ate with my Mom before slipping to something more comfortable, my headphones and into my head, ready to write. While everyone else is anticipating touch-downs and re-filling their beer nut during the half-time show, I worked on this poem. I did it with the help of a decent dose of Doors, Dylan and Stones music. Seemed fitting considering the reading I spent my day doing.

Word on the street has it we're in for some rather nasty weather tomorrow and into Tuesday. Hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. Seems surreal that it's the first week of February and we have been reaching above zero temperatures to know we'll be deep freezing with -17 windchills in mere hours. Dang winter.

Five more work days and it'll be a three day weekend. Maybe I'll read another whole book then too. I am determined to read Ulysses. It's en route from Amazon as we speak, Praying the storm doesn't hinder its arrival.

In propinquity,

Nic