This week I was supposed to write a LOVE poem. A daunting task. Here is the draft I will take to my workshop. I look forward to having it ripped to shreds! But do give me credit for the purposeful lack of heaving breasts and throbbing hearts.
STORM
The downed storm line undid our house that night.
Winds smashed potted plants
while we sat in the tub,
our knees near,
the fear audible.
Our muscles
forgot to breathe. We stared.
Later,
we did not laugh,
or push the tale at dinner parties.
The electric line was restrung.
Pots sat cracked
but became mansions for grateful, lonely spiders.
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