Where you are
By Laura Curtis

I sit in a beam of light
I am half in the shadow
half in the warm light.
I feel the sun as it warms me,
slowly spreading through my soul.

At first there is no sound,
then birds sing.
The dog slurps water from her bowl,
she jumps up and rustles the sheets,
making a nest with a big sigh.
Did she learn that from me or
did I learn it from her?

A plane in the distance,
cars going by,
again there is a peaceful calm.

I feel relaxed in bed,
with the windows open,
propped by pillows
with Sally at my feet.
I sit cross-legged,
left foot under right.
I am in my pajamas.

I smell nothing,
not even myself.
there is a peculiar non-odor

A dog barks in the distance,
I hear a door,
Sally has gone to investigate.
there is someone outside,
a lawn mower starts,
the weed whacker buzzes.
Sally returns with her ring,
knawing, scraping, she is so content.

No signs of hunger,
no signs of thirst.
The toilet is speaking again.
How that sound made me crazy in early days,
now it is a constant,
a peaceful calm.

A big fat pen with watery ink,
allows the thoughts to flow,
whatever I think.
I see my shadow,
a reflection of myself.
I watch as the shadow races across the page,
writing these words so my thoughts have a stage.


Editor's Note: Laura contributed this poem to us after recently taking our online class, BodyWrites! which inspired her to "Write/Right Where She Was" at the moment. She is a wonderful writer, and she's a bereaved mom whose son Allen died in February 2002 from SIDS. Thanks for the contribution, Laura!


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