I’ve always had pride (that could be part of the problem here) about how healthy I eat and regularly exercise. I have counted on that track record to ward off common viruses and germ-passed illnesses that circulate on a regular basis, but a fissure has opened up in that theory.
Write a brave poem, my mind says to my shrinking self, who just wants to take a nap. Okay, okay, what is brave and what is not? Let’s discuss.
On the shuttle from Sea-Tac to Bellingham zipping up the I5 north, on the way to see my cousins, I keep saying (in my head of course) I love you, I love you, not sure who, or what, I’m speaking to—could be the Space Needle coming up on the right, powder blue sky, the just turning aspens lining the freeway.
I bought a “bucket” bag yesterday at the mall, because the trip to Paris in the fall got cancelled and I won’t be spending that $3000-plus savings to share a room with a friend in the 4th arrondissement, sleeping on the roll-out bed, doing all the touristy things, visiting Monet’s garden, of course. So, why not indulge?
Hari B Poet 