our own space

it is difficult

to find my own space

with care workers

buzzing around me

like I was the queen bee

solitude

comes at a price

the house is dusty

the dishes undone

the bed unmade

hollyhocks grow tall 

staked with wooden posts

ride the wind

reaching to the sun

bees caress the blooms

I am still

in the wildest storms

unmoved

by the highest waves

only my hopes climb

days play out

marching to drums

not my own

searching for dream time

between the drumbeats

 

 

Bill Albert/Joy McCall

published in Atlas Poetica 30

Paul Levy
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© 2015 by Bill Albert