watched a woman drive to work as she unwove the lies a man had quilted just for her.
the rain came down. flooded
the yard so georgia in her robe and me in my nothing
sprinted into the worst of it, moved tables and couches and rolled
up a rug weather-worn and stained by life. we found
the drain underneath it all. a whirlpool of muck;
the dog joined in, once scared of wetness, now
sprinting, spinning, scurrying.
we would’ve applauded the show but numbness set in.
we’re out of coffee. this is unheard of.
pigs are flying.
hell is frozen.
what do we do with our days if they are not filled by the filling of mugs?
something needs to fill my cups, my days, myself.
i am not a patient person.
i am tired of being told to be patient.
you wouldn’t tell my dog to be a cat.
i want what i want when i want it until i don’t anymore.
if i must wait for it, why does that make it more earned
than if i mustered up the courage to ask for it in the first place?
to ask for anything is a feat.
i have earned what i want by wanting it.
a man i don’t know filled the life of a woman i have never met
with lies.
i slipped, naked and numb and wet, in my yard while clearing up a flood.
we are out of coffee.
i want what i want until i don’t anymore.
don’t tell me to be patient and i won’t tell you to be a cat.
Ava. Thank you for sharing your poetry. I love these coming into my inbox. I often cry, but this time I smiled and then cried. I love your writing.
Love love love