My Time, My Sunday Morning Poem
another week passed
the sun peeks throughs
the window
thirty years since
my last run
with a creek
by my side
almost thirty-three years
since my father died
and my mother died
ten years later
would they recognize
me now
grandparents in a diner
ask where has time gone
over coffee
children play and laugh
the sun glistens
off a mirror in my loft
revealing wrinkles on my face
and all the cells in my body
are not the same as five years ago
a crimson leaf falls
and the morning calls for verse
I pick up yesterday’s poem
from the floor and read it again
before I go for a drive
seasons slip by
with a whisper
my car in back
has frost on the window
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