Flu poem. 

Walking my old dog in Stanley Park today oh so slowly.  My body brutalized by flu. Every joint aching.  My head pounding with a migraine.  Can there be creativity in that?  If I can stay truly present- not deny it or be annoyed by it- what words come out?  Where does my mind go if I ride this?  I let the words flow and type them into my iPhone…

These ghosts and angels

These relics of the past

This hope and the hopeless

The gentle and crass.


The pterodactyl yawning

Sacred robust

Fragile precarious 

The weight of the bus


The root and the rooted

The foot of a tree

The story left buried

Released not yet free


Let me just lie here a little while on this dirt floor shh… shh.. at the foot of this tree with a root for a pillow shh… shh… let me just close my eyes and try to stop the pain and nausea, pull a leaf over to over my shoulder, curl my left arm around my old dog shh… shh… let me just lie here awhile in the shelter of the rhododendron bush.  I don’t ask for much just a few minutes of shh… shh… and the root can wrap around us and pull us deep deep down into the dirt floor and I’ll just shh… shh… be here forever…

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