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Well, three hundred and some poems later, I am no longer afraid of the “add new” button, even after getting home late. Today driving to work I was able to be present enough to appreciate my astoundingly beautiful commute and also think of many poem shards, practically a whole poem if I quilted it right, but then I got to work and did the work and it all disappeared. That happens quite often, especially in the car. If my hands are occupied and I can’t write it down as it happens, I lose it later.

But, it was a good day, all together, even though it started rough. It started at 5:00 am when D2 climbed into bed with me complaining that her tummy hurt, and proceeded to puke all over me a couple of times. I really believed that the Ds were out of the woods, germwise, but nope. She did get over it in about four hours, though, whereas I took about four days. Kids are awfully bouncy like that.

Another good thing that happened was that I got paid to go ice-skating with my superfun students today. I even had to stop them at one point to laugh at them and say, “hey guys! guess what! I am getting paid to do this! I think we call that winning”.

I have to do this fast, and I’ve got very little to go on, so I’m going to cheat and do a love poem. I missed Hp tonight, and so that seems like something easy. Easy is okay on late nights. So.

Hope You

Hope you know the best part is walking in the door after braving cold highways with glinting eyes in the headlights. Hope you know that I saved it all for you, all the details to the day and night. Broke down the ice rink for you already in my mind, player by shaky player, hope you know the good stories are reserved for you. Hope you know all the imagined emergencies, hope you know for just one instant, how the terror of my mind grabs at me, unexpected. Hope you know that I am a master berry-picker, mediocre ice-skater, okay teller of stories, pretty fine dancer in the kitchen, hope you know I need you to be all those. Hope you know when my hands are cold they’ll go under your shirt, and I hope never stop yelping at me when I do, like you are surprised or something.


Oh good golly already. I just keep getting cheesier and cheesier. I am the Pizza Hut of Poets. That’s okay with me. This one is true and fast. Happy Sunday, my friends.