Friday traffic ate my precious time,
thirty minutes of stewing in the driver’s
seat until I look up, see clouds.
I am a woman aloud,
choosing this moment of quiet,
preserving peace
what little remains
as aged politicians who refuse
to admit their time is done
carry on. And on. And on.
Last night, we lay on our backs,
breath coming in gasps
as if surprised to be alive
in bodies accumulating
time’s insults and woe.
I whisper a Buddhist prayer for us:
One breath less.
Woman Aloud 