The whicker of wind outside
my window tells me leaving
the haven of my bed
would be a mistake.
No breakfast eaten
or new day begun,
no matter how delicious
or auspicious,
can contend with the loving
press of a flannel sheet
or the promised rush
of anesthetic joy.
Dreams pull me down,
promising
one more and
one more and
one more
minute of bliss.
So I stay.
2 Comments
Brenda
You’ve found your voice, JG. This one resonates almost as clearly as “April”. Look forward to reading more of your crisp, relevant thoughts. Soon?
BH
jgwalker
Thank you for the kind words, and yes, I’m trying to write more poems! In fact, my goal is one new one per day, and I’ll be posting some of them here.
(In other news, we hope you’re feeling better and mending well!)