Thinking Of You

I will be reading

A book in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes interrupting.

To watch the kites wheeling high.

Lazy. Round and round and round.

Endless circlings.

Spun. In a cloudless sky.

Reading a book perhaps

Of travel to some far off land.

Or perhaps a poem about forgotten love.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me through the page

I’ve been reading from.

I will be writing

Composing lines in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes stopping.

To listen to the pigeons talking.

Lazy. Mumbling mumbling mumbling.

Endless grumblings.

Above. Sitting on the ledge outstretched.

Composing lines without structure or plot

Or rhyme. Delving into stray thoughts.

Or perhaps a memory of something said.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me from the page

I’ve been writing on.

-by Rita Putatunda