Just Made It

Sometimes I write a poem when I'm supposed to be doing something else. This morning, I almost missed the peace walk because of it. I got there in time, but I looked pretty ratty. I barely got a chance to run a comb through my hair (my mother used to say that, "At least run a comb through your hair!") before I grabbed my sign and rushed out the door to pick up my friend Heidi. Good thing I wasn't headed to a beauty contest- ha!

Here's the poem:

Forgetting

I look out the window to see the petunias
bob their heads in agreement with the rain.
There’s a birdfeeder under that morning glory vine,
but you’d never know it. In the winter,
when snow piles halfway up to the top,
I remember the vine, and think,
“Nah, that doesn’t happen.”
It’s five-thirty, and I remember the summer
light staying until almost ten.
“That doesn’t happen either,” I tell myself,
“maybe nine, but certainly not ten.”