4/30/12
Today is the last day of my 30 poems in 30 days month of April. Also, it is the last day for my family in the Bay Area. The movers come tomorrow morning. I have a lot to say about leaving, but not a whole lot of time to filter it. So, I leave with one last poem. (My internet will be off as of ten this morning, so while I will still write tomorrow and this week, it may be spotty as to when I can get it up on the blog).
30/30
(a found poem, images from 622 43rd St. Richmond, CA. as I woke this morning)
The floorboard nearest the bedroom door
creaks like a grandmother's admonition.
The daddy long-legs in the corner of the bathroom ceiling
by the window, here so long he's become part of the family.
My daughter greets him when she wakes: "good morning
long legs, good morning."
The morning sun illuminates the rumples in her bedcovers,
pillows look more like they were wrestled than slept on.
It is too dark in this living room, blinds forever drawn
for lack of trust in the neighborhood.
The yard is overgrown now, behind an eight foot fence
but in the morning light, with the sound of Richmond
behind: interstate 80, an ambulance siren, a car alarm,
it is a harborage. It is spring, the birds all sing their farewells
at once, this is how I will remember.
Aaron - you must go on with your daily poems
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