Out of a Deep Sleep at Three (AM)

A few weeks ago

I canned pickles to go 

to my family I was going to see.

Out of a deep sleep at three,

I swung my feet to the edge of the bed,

and around the side

to slide into sandals in front of me.

Now, how was I going to get my toes

to fit in the canning jars just so?

I could fill the sink with brine,

dangle my legs beside

on the edge of the basin ledge.

"But how do I climb that high?"

I said, to nobody else but me.

Oh!...dear me, just a dream!

This morning

Out of a deep sleep at three.

I swung my feet to the edge of the bed

and around the side

to slide into sandals in front of me.

I must get the car

take Dad to the ER

For a stroke it appears to be.

He has trouble

walking toward me,

and cannot

understand me.

He is frail and quite old you see,

He would have been

one hundred eleven

but he died in 1987!

Oh!...dear me, how real a dream!

If I went to the ER,

they would admit not him, but me!

I Went Inside

I swiveled in the patio chair toward the sun to warm up and the shade to cool down.

 Yawned.

I moved my can of drink and laid my head on the table.

 I jerked, sat up, and looked around. Glanced at what I’d written.

 It really wasn't a poem. Just some Ideas clumped together, like scrapings from my plate washed off and left in the drain.

 I searched for a metaphor. But I was distracted by the beauty of the hanging basket-a watercolor without the paint.

 By coral-colored blooming roses hugging like sisters swaying on one stem.

 The glare on my phone and the dictating of this made it hard to read.

 Men were here to cut my grass.

 I went inside

I Wanted to Write a Poem

I wanted to write a poem today,

but so many other things got in the way.

The thoughts they kept coming

they wanted to stay.

To dust themselves off,

to be on display.

A poem about berries,

ripe on this hot day!

A poem of square nails

That to pound was not play.

A poem about neighbors

A thanks to convey.

Not one poem but three

And all wanted a say!

But, here is the poem

instead written today.