Poem: I Too Fear

I Too Fear 

the pile of mail
that we have not opened.
It has sat there.  It sits,
waits.  I do nothing.
It is not only you.
It is me as well,
but I will push past,
will deal with it.
It should be simple.
Why isn't it simple?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: Neighborhood Inhabitants

A Writer's Notebook, One-Thousand-Eight-Hundred-And-Seventy-Three

A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Three