This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
Abigail Miller
Abigail Miller loved her stuff.
She never thought she had enough.
Piles and piles of books and papers,
her rooms filled up with crooked skyscrapers.
She bought online and in the store,
her heart beat loud — more more more!
To what end did Abigail strive?
She thought her things made her alive.
But she was wrong, our friend Miss Miller,
it was love of stuff that truly killed her.
She buried her heart in all that clutter.
It kept folks out. Her love got shuttered.
old leaves
Does a tree lament
losing her old leaves
or does she celebrate the space
for something new?