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