Sunday, August 14, 2011

My Little Glass Room

My little glass room.
Viga ceilings and bright light.
Afternoon sun makes it hot
Fans in the window temper the heat.
I love it so much I don’t want to leave.
I read
I nap
 I sweat
I feel my solitude.

Like the last queen of Hawaii,
I write in my upstairs bedroom, a prisoner.

Sitting on the toilet,
open window doors frame
the muted greens, reds, and blues on
brown of the desert.

I awake to sunlight and smell bacon beckoning.
But I resist
savoring my last moment in bed.

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