windrag : poetry : journal

we keep each other busy, mastering the marble
maze. he hums the head from ‘blue train,’
asks for more kimchi, reminds me to move the car.
who is the parent here?

outside: cold spring night.
roses: pink, white.
sounds: sneezes, streetlight.
pants: just right.

listening to the current political discourse
brings my thinking mind to a halt.
it may indeed be wise to learn to be happy
living under a bridge.

he chewed and swallowed a clove of fresh raw garlic.
i ask him “was it spicy?” “no.”
i humbly accept his offering: the last few slices
of home-pickled watermelon radish.

days lengthen. sleep comes late.
child abed, work begins.
light backpack of youth buried
in the closet.