and the guilt of not writing for two days.
But this drawing of him on the wrong side
of an envelope, I reflexively grin at it.
A wide open door spits chills on my toes,
a rebuttal of socks i stretch them
far as i can without the joints locking.
It is Sunday, a sense of done things
and begin agains. A nag in the back of my
eyelids to remember to put the bin out.
I have spent the day ticking off a list,
legs aching and mind full of leisure time,
or the concept of. What more could one
want for, but a second piece of you
that moves at night, pulls you tight.
And a daughter reminding you
how much you are.