I wish I was writing this today from my Florida room,
not the airy solar-warmed addition on the back of
the house, walled by glass, fused with natural light,
ceiling fan moving slow enough to count the blades,
hanging baskets of ferns taking the soft
sun of morning, one African violet that thinks
it has found paradise next to a
bowl of pears on an end table,
strong coffee in a china cup sweetened
with brown sugar cubes from
a tiny bowl with matching lid, a yellow
pencil reclining on a white bed of paper,
a finished poem resting by my arm
like a satisfied lover.
No, I mean an actual Florida room—a room in
Florida, preferably south Florida,
specifically Palm Beach,
to catch the morning sun and
then Naples in the late afternoon
when the sun lies down on the ocean
and dims the day.
Actually, almost any room in Florida will do,
just a warm room with a window, or
maybe one overlooking a stand of palms
and a tree of Honeybells where I plucked a perfect orange for breakfast.
--rLp--
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