all the sunlight flooding

my migraine brain clouds so hard
that when someone names a friend
i can’t pull a person up in my mind to match that name
though i know it must be somebody i know
and when i try to add a date to my calendar
i can’t remember which icon on my phone
will take me there
_______

all the sunlight
flooding the back bedroom
as i nap the ache away
and lisi the cat curled
in the nook my knees make
_______
flash of red
a cardinal swooping across green acres road
at cotton-candy-dusk-sky time
as i drive down the snow-lined hill to town
_______
annie poking her pointer finger
up into a hole in the back of matthew’s shirt
while we gather around the stage
where writers step up to read
_______
the bright green of margaret’s sweater
aross the table from me
_______

thank you for helping to make this place
feel more like home
i write

next to my signiature in tanja’s copy
of contours: a literary landscape
_______

jo marie asks me
if i walk everyday and i challenge her
to read next time an invitation extends itself
as long as it’s not something that feels
like it might kill her