Observations 10-1-17

It’s harder now to see
beautiful things
like exhortations to sky
in a rock song or the way the cat
licks between her toes while bathing.
These days, I might listen
to the whole record not hearing
a single word, feed kitty
when she meows but keep going.
I barely noticed various shades
of scorched grass blanketed
with wet leaves, and it must have been
before that when my foxglove browned.
I am quite aware of the cold space
on my thigh where your hand
should rest, the bitterness of each
sip of discount coffee, my tailbone.
I know that isn’t much.

Linking this up in solidarity and very, very late to Karin’s prompt in the Imaginary Garden: Thinking of the Little Things