It's Sunday morning, early February,
the wind shaking the branches outside...
doesn't it know it's Spring
officially at least?
and I have nowhere to be
and I'm sipping tea
and reading poetry
and where else should I be?
and what else doing?
Bu there's the imagined taste
of caraway seed on my tongue
from the cake I plan to make, maybe today,
and there's the half- knitted sock waiting
for completion and a mate
or I could vacuum the carpet
or rake the ashes from the grate
or take a shower using that lemon soap
the very same as the cool wrappered one
that Leopold Bloom bought in Sweny's
on that memorable day
though I find that it falls short
in the area of lather
and emits not much of a lemon tang
and transports me nowhere at all...
So instead of enjoying the ease
of a lazy Sunday wintry morning
I am wracked by thoughts
of actions not performed
and journeys not taken..
Copyright 2023 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved
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