i raise my snowcone to his hand on my arm and to last doors

blessed independence day. always loving this boy: opening doors for me. smiling doing a tri in the vegas june. him. so i wore my fourth of july Vans for him. not for america...we just got back from living in costa rica. but for his blessed life (except the cheap a$% goggles), for all his open doors, for the gift of free agency.

deven..."I was running, as the silks rustled, through room after room without stopping, for I believed in the existence of a last door."— Czeslaw Milosz, from “City Without a Name” in New and Collected Poems, trans. Milosz, Robert Haas, Robert Pinsky, and Renata Gorczynski


S said…
How he loves his mama. And how she does love him.

You have returned! Not for long I assume. Has it changed? Have you changed? Oh lovely v the changes are all around.
Anonymous said…
i love the snippets of poetry you post. it is all so inspiring...so soulful. you are better read than i am so i like coming to your blog on occasion. thanks for the bits of poetic recharge.

Walks on Fire said…
siren som...how do you measure time? in teaspoons? in cups of tea? i look up and change has marched right across my face.
Walks on Fire said…
sre...how about some calligraphy to go along with the poems? on the side of filing motions, half a dozen kids, and all you do. hope you are well.
Anonymous said…
ah, calligraphy...my pen has sat too long in my desk

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