Rose’s Diary, April 28, 2013

At five last night, our fish Fishie died.  At five this morning,

Rick and I drove our daughter Willa to the Greyhound

to a year learning to survive

on water and air,

among those who knew Thomas.

Home at noon, cleaning our empty fishbowl,

I could swear I saw Willa in a soap bubble, lying down like

last night when she should have been packing,

saying she was “relishing a last soft bed moment,”


I didn’t mean to drop the bowl

or cut myself on the broken glass.


2 thoughts on “Rose’s Diary, April 28, 2013

  1. Aw, thanks Debbie. A hard day. Funny thing was that here in Brooklyn, nature was bustin’ out all over, a cherry blossom day, the most glorious spring day of the year — or maybe ever.

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