Sometimes . . . I don’t care what I’m told
where memories rest in heaps
soft carpets under toe
conversations part of herstory
keeping the house from sinking into the ground
A little monkey jumping on the bed
Its own trail of scent
carting boxes back and forth on creaky knees
Prior night’s twisted dreams
I am so grateful to them
Sometimes I don’t care what I’m told
my knees need my love
my heart questions why
others see me fly unsealed by age
The road leads to reality feeling and time.
Take off your shoes.
Hang up your coat.
(from read-back lines from pieces by Outside Group
AA, JB, RF, SB, TD, 9/7/14)