New home

She says

She’s found a home

For our 25 year old turtle.

First he needs a beak and nail trim

His vitamin shots.

He will travel

With his tank

And water dish.

He will live forever

As tortoises do.

We won’t.

Ice day

May make it to the grocery store... eventually. Not even a day for walkers, such as me.

We may not go out today.

The daughter made it to Elmhurst,

Says she may come home.

We will spread salt

On the walk,

Food for the birds

In back.

The duck lady has launched her corn

Across the way.

I wonder if ducks slip

On ice.

We are home with the tree,

The cats,

The turtle.

Today is an ice day.

Discombobulation

I would prefer to have other things occupy my mind.  When something vital, like a professional calendar, goes missing, all the creative spots go missing as well.  They are taken up with anxiety. My daughter and I leave this afternoon with a friend and friend*s mother to visit schools in Boston. We all have different ideas of what such things mean: trips and college visits et al.  Meanwhile, the floors are being cleaned downstairs.  I cannot locate my calendar, which has our flight arrangements clipped into the front of it.  I think I must have put it somewhere safe.  Right.

I sit upstairs

While the floors are being cleaned

Underneath me.            

It began

It continues

As a day

Of discombobulation.

I try to settle

In an upstairs chair,

Green,

In the bedroom.

This room is already clean.

My calendar

Has gone missing.

I know it is somewhere

Downstairs.

Perhaps I can blame

The cat.

I consider the implications

Of a calendar

Lost in thin air.

I reconstruct it

In my head.

Again I settle back

Into the green chair.

I would like to write creative things.

Not this.