Ice solid from slumber, the compost sleeps, and still, we keep placing blanket after blanket of grinds, decay and peels: a pea, to find a princess
for #sol22
Ice solid from slumber, the compost sleeps, and still, we keep placing blanket after blanket of grinds, decay and peels: a pea, to find a princess
for #sol22
Tiny Sunday Moments:
beats bleed through my son’s headphones, fingers raking keys, his head shaking to rhythms of collaboration
the youngest dog, sound asleep, not a second of hesitation, she’s claimed a patch of grass in a yard of water and mud
frustration with the paper, this past Sunday, vacant inner sections, what we’re missing, now, I may never know
the elder dog, shuffling, so slow, stubbornly sniffing his way through every other inch of curb and grass
constantly drawn to news, the screen scroll, thumbing fast, the menacing world at war, flinch as headlines, blare
on a chair, in the sun, closing eyes, listening to wind, in a moment of solitude I’d share with those who need it, more, if only I could
for #sol22
From the window, what we see on a barren tree: six flickering cardinals, flashing red and gray, with wings in flight - partners in love, dancing in sunlight - a hint of Spring, beautiful to me
for #sol22
Driving home, Friday:
my attention is broken by an errant basketball sitting still and abandoned on the double yellow dividing lines
Not a person in sight, as my mind imagines the possibilities of play, an idea at rest stays at rest, finding refuge at the end of another long day
for #sol22
A week-old icicle hangs with impatience off the roof near the front door, sipping off a drink from gravity’s pour; it’s a slow-moving race that ends at the floor
for #sol22
Two poems I wrote about home gather inside a collection of community, like a river of skipping stones, where words flitter next to art and photographs, a city-wide effort to remember, together: not one of us is ever alone
for #sol22
https://forbeslibrary.org/exhibit2022/ https://forbeslibrary.org/exhibit2022/prose-poetry/kevin-hodgson/ https://forbeslibrary.org/exhibit2022/prose-poetry/kevin-hodgson-2/
Her eyes drift up, a dog’s curiosity piqued by shadows in the tree, where a huge red-tailed hawk, talons clutching winter branch, gazes down with hunter’s eyes, uninterested in the attentions of neither her nor me
for #sol22
I’m watching her talk; the first time in the classroom with her mask, fully off, and there’s something wondrous about such a moment of clarity that comes coupled, uncomfortably, with concern
for #sol22