It's as if I was on the North Dakota prairie: young, alone, wakened by flashes of a great Midwestern storm through my bedroom windows, big cracks and booms and the rain falling hard. I hit the weekday snooze alarm and then woke again, at noon. There is so much earnest work going on in this world. The storm has passed. It is hot and windy. I feel no guilt that I still sit here in night clothes at 1:00 in the afternoon. Yesterday the glass was half-empty. Today it is a quarter-full.
I seek out a daily poem and today I fell on this one, read by the poet herself, Lucille Clifton. It is a perfect post-storm, layabout-in-night-clothes-on-a-Saturday-afternoon poem.
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