crow's feet

01.mundane.
steam escaping through the vent in the dishwasher
silver teapot spout-open on the front right burner
rachel ray's face beaming from a box of low-fat wheat thins
eight yellow daffodills in my grandmother's ceramic vase
lavender and oatmeal french soap stacked on the side of the sink
wine glasses upside-down on the green and white dishtowel

02. furrowed.
ballpoint pen resting on an incomplete voiceover script
frames dropping in video clips on the timeline
1040, line 54: line 50 subtracted by line 53
silver car flying through a red light, then reversing hard
tinted window lowering to reveal two angry faces
sudden interest in my steering wheel, studying a freyed sleeve
plastic bottle hits the side of my car

03.splinters.
weeks later, still resonating from a heartfelt dialogue
shared from two barstools in a smokey haze,
pushed the green 'send' button to describe a pink sunset over wheat-colored roads;
a contrast to loss and bittersweet hospital laughter
messages(1): a tribute to the comfort of friendship
later awakened by an outside party
reporting that from the same bar stools, another story was being told
this time including my name, embarrassing shortcomings
the rest of the hurried sentences went unheard
as my mind recalled the sight of my father's eyes when he's tired
I fell asleep with the phone on my chest
and dreamed about his typewriter in the mouth of a shark

04. blooming.
windows open for the first time since fall
cats shrieking at each other on the landing
tumbling down a flight of stairs and hissing in a motionless heap at the bottom
tufts of gray and black hair everywhere in the wind
catching on budding branches, squirrel nests
wrapping myself in the blue sun afghan
I lean against the window frame
part the blinds with my left hand
and let the vision of spring soak into my roots