Whaaat is Happening Here isn’t quite clear.

Up against the wall

elbows out

fighting to feel.

The background glass

allows the light of leaves,

mosaics the yellow

next to my bed.

The pain of being body,

swollen round

arthritic pulse of flow.

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the heart at work.

Art Walk and the standing for hours each day have taken their toll. I awoke with stabbing pain in my wrists, knees, ankles and feet. My stomach was burning. Strangely hard to settle on one spot when back, neck, head and all of the rest are screaming at me like an unruly group of children all demanding attention. I moved the bag of lavendar closer to my head and let the aroma flood over me.” Resistance is futile,” I reminded myself. Just let the high notes play like a zylophone first here then there. A tune of physical despair. I listened until I sank back into sleep.

poetry in the folds

poetry in the folds

Today I had the wonderful gifts of emails from friends sending love and congratulations on my work. Even my taciturn brother said, “You know you are good, now go get buyers.” From him, that is high praise. He speaks little, infrequently and usually laces the comments with sarcasm.

Trying to get the house back in order and return my focus to those things which I have promised that I would do for people was what entertained me in the afternoon.

But the morning was sheer frivolity. We awoke at 7 were at Valu Village at 8:30 where I purchased $300 worth of thrift store clothing for myself, Cameron and my grand daughter Rhane for $150. This grand girl skyped me to inform me that “I have nothing to wear in my closet. I have no dressed for preschool, grandma.” Actually she says gandma. So today I got her dresses, skirts, blouses, sweaters and a pair of shoes. Mostly pink. Mostly very, very pink.

So what of this day? What of any day? Where did I make good decisions? Where did I go wrong?

The body is asking for care. Order and quiet needs to be vigilantly but gently reinstituted. The quest for more galleries to carry my work must be taken up again.

And the breeze that flows past me from the door asks me to come outside.