Humming (2020 NaPoWriMo #30)

Whining wings

Wheeling sound outside my door.

I leap to my feet,

Rummage in the garage.

Later, crystalline feeder swaying,

I fold my arms, surveying the snow.

Sun-warmed boards underfoot,

I watch his favorite tree.

Has the horrible hummingbird returned?

Rumors placed them only miles south last week.

Our home has been muffled in hushed snow.

We are braced, again, for epic battles on our porch.

Later, when the dog barks at a rumbling truck

And I eye the yet-empty feeder,

I pause to notice the distinctive whine.

Is it just a bad axle?

Perhaps war waits for another day.

That Girl (2020 NaPoWriMo #28)

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That girl had a dorm room:
Sheets in hospital corners,
Underwear folded, just so,
SAMI meant inspections.

Who knew she would still
Fold underwear, just so?
Make her bed every day?
Even hang her clothes that way?

That the room represented
a way of life
That she followed for twenty-
six more years?

And when she retired,
remnants living in the folds,
she wouldn’t miss it?
One bit?

Childhood Dishes: A Review (2020 NaPoWriMo #27)

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Riffing from William Carlos Williams about my Merrie Olde England childhood dishes

so much depends
upon

inventing a breakfast
story

fresh from another
world

the white dog (is it cat?)
observing