All chairs face the window
onto the street when it rains. For a split
second, I forget why
I’m worried. It makes me anxious—
this forgetting. Then I remember: that death
thing. The when, where, and why
of it. No, that’s not it.
Can I walk the mile home without ruining
all that I’ve tried to iron
flat? Will I be able to pull that umbrella
from my pack in time? Will the laundry room
be empty tonight? What a relief.
2 thoughts on “9th and Nicollet”
I’m puzzled by the title (probably my ignorance) but I love the lines: the quiet unfolding of her thoughts, the hint of Big Questions below the surface of daily life. Nice.
Just a street corner. Thanks for your comments.