2 p.m. on Thursdays. My therapist sees me at my best. With a dog on my lap. Genteel emotion. My arms close to my body. My head right there with my body. 2 p.m. is for sleepiness. For cracking knuckles. For nodding off in a La-Z-Boy. For the dentist. Movies are more affecting at midnight.
Pandora’s Daughters
Jennifer Lynn Krohn
Inside you shatter the colored glass bottles
I’ve collected these past 5 years.
The neighbors watch from their porches
as I nail our door shut.
You shout words like hoarder and clutter
and learn to let something go!
Two Poems
Jane Zwart
My son, who wants a pet, drops objects
he no longer needs wherever they outlive
their use. He leaves the door open.
I tell him a pet would eat his socks.
I tell him I cannot chase another
living thing. He asks for a slice of bread.
collection
BEE LB
a day is only a collection of hours, but the collection
of hours stretches endless ahead. a day is only
something to get through. the way to get through
is to catch each sound, bottle it quiet, open when in need
of a living reminder. hold out your hand and i will pour a sound into it.
