What I Do
I wake.
I brew tea,
add honey.
I collect
weeks worth
of worn clothes,
fill the washer
then the dryer
then the washer
again. Between
waiting for the done
dings, I scribble
lines. About
the morning mist
that shrouds my street.
About the sun
that struggles
to break through.
2 thoughts on "What I Do"
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I’m drinking my tea with you this morning. Scribble on, Gwyneth!
I love the poem’s form, and the way it is so spare and seemingly simple, but holds a deep well of meaning for me.
My favorite lines:
“Between
waiting for the done
dings, I scribble
lines.”
I too saw “the morning mist shrouding” a field on my way home from the YMCA this morning, and how the sun “struggles to break through it.” So much beauty to see, if we just look for it.