Poetry

these days
when the quiet mind is least appreciated
with its whispered questions,
echoes their only answer

I, for once, turn to physical reality
peanut butter
blueberry tea
the perfect pants
(and shirt)
laughter on the phone
bright tissue boxes
the murmer of the radio

I, the thinking girl,
often alone with her thoughts and
rather liking it that way, usually,
Reaches toward these little joys
Forgetting, a little, what the questions were at all