Her awakening is slow in the low hours before dogs' whines or the sun squeaks through blinds Before showers are warm or chores checked off, Her awakening is a yawn. Dew has not yet evaporated, its drops hint at her dissatisfaction What could be less endearing that someone else's drool? What could be less inviting than wet socks stepping in his shower remnants? ignore it get ready Her awakening is a snooze button. His jokes weren't what she accepted when he came courting the chorelist of his status how short it would be how long the ledger of his properties and earnings as long as her social calendar her list of invitations to reply to. Her awakening is a reckoning. Then there was a summer when she found how crude his culture was Had they no decency? August, it ended September sand in her toes October she felt it under her fingernails when she wrote letters she never sent him HIM Her awakening is a rush of cold water. She dips into an Olympi
I ski, teach, parent, write, read, swim, adventure. I get lost in my own mind, chewing on words and images. Sometimes something good comes out.