up next

fog like whiteness giving over to nothing
only scarves and neckties are flowering

I play a matchbox and then a jukebox

sitting here quietly with my knife

I cut a path of spirals through smiles

of my own motherhood brimming

only to hide under frosty glares

as though the sky is burning 

isn't it strange how we define words

with more words and... gesturing

how even the ruins of a day

can be filled with people

____________________

Note: KB talked to KO and I got a long, kind, and helpful walk-and-talk about options (with KO). Cannot describe how it feels to be understood and validated.