the eve…

i’m turning 37 tomorrow

so today

I’ll try to make life changes

i’ve been meaning to…

 

i’m gonna clean those garden beds

up real nice and remember

to use my sunscreen

 

i’m going to practice sketching

eyes and leaf skeletons &

maybe even bones since i now have a

collection of them outside my own body

 

my own aging body…

maybe i can study these bones

before i turn 37 & maybe

wisdom & peace will present

itself as if i’m reading tea leaves

 

i’m gonna make my own tea.

pluck all the mint from my own garden

and muddle those leaves

just like i read online

 

and maybe with my sketching

done & bone-tea-leaf readings

finished, I’ll actually sit

 

and soften so I can start

reading  Hemingway again

He must have thought

in ellipses too, like me, because

he’s always going on & on

it’s so poetic. I want to be more poetic…

 

maybe now that tomorrow i’m

turning 37, I can be

more poetic & less of me.

less of a smoker & a

strange lady with too much

sadness in her…

 

i wonder if someone tried to

read my bones like

garden-fresh tea leaves, would

they see all the sadness there? Has it

infected my bones, too?

 

My heart has been a cavern

for sad shit like that but i never

thought about where else the sadness was infecting…

 

maybe the sadness worked its way

into my bones, making

its way into my bloodstream

and is wrapping

itself into my dna

 

©2017 erin hoffman – all rights reserved

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