Self-Portrait
When morning light across her eye
first cracks its gentle glow
she rises like the great undead
and whispers time to go
she finds her little apron
with the pockets all adorned
and ties it ’round her waist
so she can start the blessed morn
she stops quick by the wooden box
she keeps beside her bed
and softly pets the words inside
while thoughts grow in her head
she pads soft to the dining room
and sits down with her phone
oh my oh yes the friends are here
they’re coming one by one
now this one’s new, igniting,
and that one smells like home
and this one’s sad and that one
makes her feel much less alone
she fills her little pockets up
her hands no longer shake
as she puts down a poem, then
she will more poems take
take a poem, leave a poem
give thanks as you go
you know she really loves it here,
the packrat of lexpomo.
