the heaviness of living
between 4 walls, with an
overwhelming lack of windows,
for one/third of my day,
five/sevenths of my week,
and an intolerable amount of
time from my life—
has me longing for flight.
I will call myself a bird and
I will forget the colors of
grey and cloud.
I will set up shop in the
Pacific Northwest,
a California coast,
the precipitation laden
bogs of Ithaca;
sell loose leaf tea in a shop
on the corner of a winding road;
do yoga in the back yard while
my dogs lay in sun filled spots
of grass and flower bedded soil;
sit on a hillside in the middle of
the afternoon, on a Tuesday, and
smell the air as it lifts over me.


Categories: Poetry

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