I’ve got a few poems jotted down that need a second (or twelfth) look before they’re ready to share, but this one is unlikely to become any more than it is, so I’m just throwing it out there.
I was sitting in a rattan egg chair (I think they’re called egg chairs? Like a little cave of a chair, suspended from the ceiling? Anyway, moving on) on the porch/verandah/deck at my in-laws’ this afternoon, and as I half dozed in the sun, wondering if I should start a new book or if my husband and my mother-in-law were serious that work would only take ‘fifteen to twenty minutes’, my eyes were drawn to the patterns in the chair. And ta da, a poem was born. *shrugs* It’s not great, but I feel like there are a couple of people who followed me when I was posting poems every day and I’ve neglected them lately. This poem isn’t probably the best way to indulge them, but oh well. I do have a few more on the way, but I think they have potential to be stronger, so I’ll hold on to them for a little bit.
The rattan is woven around the sides
in such a way as to make
and the borders
are encircled with bands
that give a sense of