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


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