December 10, 2024

my immediate future

The cat is staring out the window, her eyes half-closed. 
This snow won’t last long—I can hear the dripping off the roof. 
I feel moved to put things away, make quick work of old receipts. 
Another homemade potholder is in my immediate future. 
The end of the year always feels so compact and intense. 
Deep breath, exhale, deep breath, exhale.
There’s a path somewhere underneath all the dead leaves. 
36 laps at the Y, followed by grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Meg said, “Come over any day just to sit, or write a poem.
I’m all over the place but I can see the tethers everywhere.