one word at a time
in the afternoons, the sun opens the room
like a portal: warms the hands and feet
and throat and makes things seem possible.
if i just keep going, one word at a time,
i will be made real, consequential -- but
consequences are usually negative.
nothing that is true is inappropriate,
a colleague once said. i wrote a word sonnet
about suicide while my daughter was at school:
just then the landscapers entered
my yard, opened the gate and made the
deer flee; and then it was only me.
© 2014 Michelle Warner