Sunday, July 15, 2018

Not a Metaphor

I don't forget you
astral, austere

I search until time
is up
over, easy

My prayer speaks
as breath
salient, silent

Despite a small wheeze, I spent yesterday singling Thyagaraja kritis and slapping talams with tenuously connected new friends (book club to E; E to Tamil classes with S; S a student of R's mom; A a colleague of R; and so on). It was lovely--something I didn't even know I needed. And Nu told me in a silent moment that I sang beautifully.

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Some days are just about Huckleberry sticking out their tongue and trying to boop you on the nose.  That's all I have in me today.