in the crisp air of spring

are the starlings angry

or joyful

… in the crisp air of spring

their chirp protrudes 

amidst the awareness of aching bones

my heart beats slow

shallow breathing laborious 

another precipice looming

since November

it’s in my bones; toes first -

months of little blue piggies 

no sock nor wiggle working;

now that my toes are warm-ish

it’s migrated to my knees,

nose, elbows; daily hot bathing 

huddling near the heater space 

a momentary reprieve;

I didn’t sign up for this…

this being cold since November 

huh…oops

twenty-4 years later an’ I’m still sittin’ in a drawer with the odd things that I had planned to use or fix some day, gettin’ tangled in my own cord

redneck city girl

suddenly missing 

the sultry smooth

of a Texas boy’s

intent and the ease

in which I was me

I teeter on the precipice of a forced calm

I thought I had settled in

was settling - in the process of

rooting - envisioning 

implementing the vision 

of the life I would lead

after a life too determined 

a segue in the midst of the trying 

of the boggling 

down in the mire of figuring 

and establishing - hit in a frenzy 

a day late and a syllable short

just because I can

doesn’t mean I want to

I’m too old for it