Friday, September 13, 2013

poetry

It feels as good as the feeling of peeling puff paint
in strips off a white cotton t-shirt,
As good as the feeling of growing your own tomatoes,
or running a hundred yards in the summer sun.
It feels as good as the feeling of stealing ice cream
from the freezer when your mother is away,
and eating it, chill-faced, all afternoon.

I don't know what I am writing about (maybe I do, but I will keep it to myself). I just liked the puff paint phrase and went from there. Plus, I do have tomatoes growing in the sun by my door (and gold and crimson mums, planted today). And I just enjoyed the feeling of stealing a green-tea Mochi from our freezer. My question is, what feels this good to you? I am in the phase of lots of little writing projects, and one big, and submitting things like crazy. I am also in the phase of lots of cooking projects, working my way through the six enormous kale plants in our garden, and developing ways to eat pita bread. The current favorite: rub a little olive oil on two sides of a pita, put in pan on high, sprinkle coarse salt, cracked pepper, rosemary on top, and fry on both sides until puffy!

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