Rain, and more of it.
I get up from the desk,
straighten,
hold my chest high, go out.
The darkening street
sounds of water
and wears it well,
pooling and puddling into shadows and light.
My night walk
consists of this -
finding an egg salad sandwich at least
a kilometer from here.
Here,
Here,
where we're drowning in work.
While I walk thinking about my sandwich, I compose a haiku to egg salad and yellow peonies.
I don't know-
are yellow peonies hard to grow?
This sandwich is proving illusive,
and when found, stale.
I buy vegetable sushi as a backup.
Almost home, I look in the convenience store nearest my apartment, and there it is.
The perfect sandwich, halved, decrusted, soft yellow busting fresh against its wrapper.
The perfect sandwich, halved, decrusted, soft yellow busting fresh against its wrapper.
But I'm glad for the walk, the time to tune myself into seeing things again -
how the cold still sits in the trees,
and the street cats are not malnourished.
how the cold still sits in the trees,
and the street cats are not malnourished.
While even now, nearly asleep,
I am still contemplating the fate
of stale egg salad sandwiches
and yellow peonies.
I am still contemplating the fate
of stale egg salad sandwiches
and yellow peonies.
