The first day with heat 

This old house with creaky bones

Shivers, smells like toast

 

Birds puff up when they are cold. This little robin must have woken up in my house this morning because he’s quite puffed up– and I’m just enough not puffed up that I can share this poem I wrote about being cold in a place that’s not supposed to be. I’d love to know your thoughts– on both the painting and the poem! 

 

Louisiana is not cold

Except on the days when it is

Our collective forgetting

And then remembering

That sometimes we run the water all night so the pipes don’t freeze

And sometimes we wear two pairs of socks

And sometimes we let the car warm up a bit

Before driving away

 

Days like today bathing suits and beaches feel like a movie I saw once–

I remember some of the plot, the face of one of the actors

 

I’d like to see it again because I recall there was some magic 

that now I can’t seem to place

Over the roar of a heater working too hard

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