It’s hard work
being the person
I should be,
the better version
of myself.
Someone who is liked, admired,
perhaps even loved.

Because who would ever want
the person I really am?

She roams from room to room
checks the thermostat
notches it up a degree or two.
With chores completed
and nothing more to do
a chill tends to set in.

It’s the dusk of the year,
waning light
the sun favoring the southern sky.
No bright windows to read by,
no outdoor radiance to warm her.

Her first winter alone
a new combatant: diving into depression, swimming in darkness, a paralysis of intent
or welcoming warrior: artistic exploration, snow-bound inspiration, the homey sustenance of soups and bread?

The choice — it’s hers to make.

Isn’t it odd
and somehow gratifying
when some word
(one you’ve never heard of
or rarely used)
crosses your path
again and again
jumping out at you
from the pages of a book
or in your RSS feed
or on Dateline
some Friday night
and you’re like
‘huh. that’s weird.’

a word like tangled
or onomatopoeia
or gronk.

yeah.

i think that’s pretty cool.

I used to covet things.

Physical tangible possessions
new clothes, jackets, shoes
magazines, CDs, books and DVDs
drawers and closets jammed tight
tunes and words not yet absorbed.

I have plenty and then some.

Will I live the years necessary
to enjoy all that I’ve accumulated?

Will my ROI pay ample dividends?