Friday, January 3, 2020
Migraine has subsided a bit.
It’s a beautiful, breezy afternoon.
These days happen from time to time.
If I were up north, it would seem like
summer leaning into fall, a breeze to blow in winter from the sea.
But there’s no winter in its warmth.
It’s freshly baked bread
coming out of an oven.
A day for a sail,
a walk in the changing gold and
grey light of clouds passing quickly
like time reels on film.
It’s the kind of day and temperature
that warms your skin
so you smell the hint of bandaids that don’t keep on your knees.
January in North Carolina bringing back Augusts in Connecticut
with roller skates and bicycles
and the anticipation of school starting soon.
That last escape before routines,
buzzers take over again.
But it’s forty-five years,
several states, and two seasons away.
I would look up toward the sun and clouds,
but the migraine still
A villain, knife at my eye,
daring me to live.
I want to drop the rumination of past,
move forward into this new year.
But here I am, keeping my eyes to the ground,
hostage to thoughts instead of action.