There’s an accident-prone

toddler in the house.
My brother’s son. Will he have more children,
I wonder to myself as
I make tea. Watching a

dog sleep. The roses
grow (abundance) with a kind of finesse
and poise in the region
where understanding
meets the meat of the sun

under the vision of a nighthawk. 

The swimmer has a
lithe body. Slender
and lean she cuts
through the pool. She’s not thinking

(The dog lifts his head. Scratches itself.)

yet of her equanimity
when facing her father’s
(who is in the autumn
 of his years, right now),
 
his death. Even the painting
hanging on a wall in the sitting
room of her childhood-house and sanctuary speaks of a
country language in rural
tones. A concrete language.

The stage is set.

Don’t forget all about
me. If you do I’ll haunt
 you for the rest of
your days. I’ll visit your dreams.

This poem is all about the people in my life
(a love letter to them).
I write poems about
people. People who live in faraway cities.
Like Prague and Brazil.
Paris, France. Stockholm.

I write about places that I wish I could visit.

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Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!