HOA ENTERS THE KITCHEN heaving a sigh. The boys sleep. She pours a cup of lemon balm tea. I listen to liquid pour out into the mug and hear her spoon stirring in milk and honey. "I'm fat," she says. "You look great," I say. "You just had a baby and you're beautiful." She wears purple pants and goes across the room to read, flipping pages of a magazine next to a stuffed, mechanical bird. A blue balloon dog faces me. The pothos are wild and flourishing. There's puked up breast milk on my shirt.
Quiet room sunflower blossoms
wilt by a lamp's weak light
and a spider's blue shadow
sidewinds above horizons
of grey parallel ink lines (Italian).
A torn calendar bookmark shows
Amicus stood word of the day
Tertius/Tuesday, Martius/March 19.
A crease in the fold obscures
all but this in a quote:
"…populo romano cogitare."
(Cicero)
Spider reaches far frontiers
other side of the table.
Light tonight is yellow.
especially liked todays