Empty afternoons

A poem

I could walk in the sun

everyday, and this would be enough.

I am free as one.

And I have my dreams —

the dreams from my mother

the dreams from my grandmother —

good ones passed down.

It’s hard to fathom

all I’ve gained and

all that could be lost —

my choice

my slow morning

my bank account

being on my own

going home alone

empty afternoons

in a warm 2:30

empty afternoons

walking the edges of the city

writing while walking —

I couldn’t think like this

I couldn’t move like this

if I wasn’t the single woman

using verse as a banquet

to keep myself fed.