enough to be bored, to cast about for something to do, that is not
too demanding.
The mailbox.
Five years ago, leaning dangerously off a shattered pole
(ah the destructiveness of youth), then righted, but
unhappy.
Ugly, every day.
And me, unable to muster the discipline of taping lines,
complex, fussy designs, inspired by sunflowers
I painted her yellow, then considered the beauty of nature
where there are no straight lines and all are welcome (!)
The colors of our house.
I coughed and sputtered, and painted a beautiful mailbox.
Memories of pneumonia.
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