Poem: The Barefoot Girl

These flickering candles arrived yesterday Battery operated. Wait a sec. It's quite dark inside the living room, so lemme turn them on.

Scott and I ordered a couple hundred dollars worth of items. He got an electric nail filer which cost $60. Well worth it.

Binge-watched Criminal Minds last night until 4 am.

Really good. Tried watching anudder episode this morning about a hate crime but didn't like it, so I tried MI 6, the British version of the FBI. Fairly awful.

I sip my chocolate tea and listen to the sound of thunder.

Loud bowling balls. The Man of La Mancha riding across the plains of the Russian savannah.

Ah, here comes the water rolling in the gutters down the street.

Exciting!

My living room window is like a movie screen.

I tried watching Jackie Brown a film by Tarantino.

Awful.

Wrote about 7 greeting cards this morning. Was finishing up the last one to Ada's mom when I saw the big form of Mailman Dante on my front porch.

After I delivered it to him, he was up the hill of the Dyke house, I stopped to say hello to the Columbians. Luce, the mom, had a huge clippers and was removing high branches from a white oak.

They're gonna vacation in Rhode Island, little Rhoady, as the song goes.

We exchanged breakfast foods. Raisin Bran for Luce, and Oatmeal with blueberries for me.

We really need this rain.

 The yellow rose bloomed. The leaves are flecked with bug bites.

How the birds needed a bath. Bees would come to drink. Colony collapse disorder and all that guff.

Had an awful dream that my cousin R died. She lives alone in Solon, Ohio.

Mom told me she is not doing well.

She got one of my cards.

Each one of my cards must be different, as in No angle at the Bryn Athyn Cathedral can be the same.

I'm going to write a poem now, after I refill my tea and make a salad for lunch,

THE BAREFOOT GIRL

She's lived in the Yellow House
with marvelous windows
for forty years.
Metamorphosis becomes her.
Two nights ago she breathed unbelieving
as Elektra presented itself
on the stage of the Met.

Names she hadn't heard since
college. Sophocles. Agamemnon
Clytemnestra, Agisthus. Kill,
destroy, raging inside with hate.

Barefoot, her feet kill.
All these years she counted on them,
massages them now with an open palm
and bids them heal.

The sun warms the living room.
The thunder has stopped.