remembering

what might have been

could have been

should have been

*

onward, regardless…

it’s very early in the A.M.

and sleep refuses to take me

I jot down answers to a poetry prompt

& in the quiet stillness of our sunroom

I giggle at one or two of them

wildfire smoke still obscures a clear view

microscopic particulates wreak havoc —

mis ojos, my upper respiratory system

dew point is more favorable today

but, given the haze, I choose to remain indoors

there’s a poet I know who shared something she’d found

a fantastic poem she has no recollection having written

details only she would know or care to cast about

*

its verses convey a voice unlike her normal fare

she recognized that straight away

as did we, her faithful poetry companions

*

how to regain this same tone, this sense of freewriting

she asks, hoping we can guide her back to this unknown place

I tap the side of her head, gently, tell her friend, it’s all in here

the last of summer’s 2nd month

wet and warm, hot and humid

a spent, wilted recipe

for baked-in wretchedness

slow-moving storm, freighted deliberation

dark, swollen clouds unburdened of rain

far away, a parched soil awaits its liberation

a poet leaves this earth

& soon, my mother follows

a driving rain falls, and falls