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our own space
​
it is difficult
to find my own space
with care workers
buzzing around me
like I was the queen bee
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solitude
comes at a price
the house is dusty
the dishes undone
the bed unmade
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hollyhocks grow tall
staked with wooden posts
ride the wind
reaching to the sun
bees caress the blooms
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I am still
in the wildest storms
unmoved
by the highest waves
only my hopes climb
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days play out
marching to drums
not my own
searching for dream time
between the drumbeats
Bill Albert/Joy McCall
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published in Atlas Poetica 30
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Paul Levy
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