Twenty Two Years Later - Aug. 26, 2022

I still wipe down a drop of water

next to the sink

shuffle the newspapers into a neat pile

for recycling

check my emails

go outside retrieve a fallen leaf

top off the dogs’ water bowl

scratch a stomach or two

tidying up after lunch

stalls my facing a blank page

and pen with a bellyful of ink

for me to write a poem

I must drop everything

I’m doing and focus

on that inkling

that clue

those whispers

come find me