I let the water run—

perhaps too long.

soapy residue:  all gone.

some mornings I feel so antigua

it translates to ‘old’ or ‘ancient’

by naming myself thus, however,

I hope to sprinkle

a bit of mystique, as in

will this day be the day?

colored swatches on tag paper

meandering ephemera

not-so-lost-child still loves to play

forsythia, newly planted

leaf bursts, virgin yellow blooms

my mother’s final journey

crowded & overgrown,

they’ve overstayed their welcome—

fistful of chives

ephemera collected over the years

memories suffused into bits & bobs

who might cherish it as much as I?

darkened sky to the east

drops of rain on sunroom windows

a hint of wind to go with it

the British call it sorted

handled, organized, under control

I just like the way it sounds