End Of Drought

In being thankful for this dreary day,
of this just large enough apartment

listening to symphonic thunder
drops falling sleepy like soup,

you might curl in a chair with a good book
or writer’s pen, every few moments peeking

out, slosh to the mailbox without
an umbrella wearing your husband’s noisy shoes,

the sun pacing behind an Atlantic sea
surely, friends are inside their rooms too

reflecting about the day they were born,
even though they can’t recall

the clock on the wall or the swift lift
into the cradle of memory,

certainly, this end brings forth humbleness
of a long, warm life.