I went for a long-overdue walk this afternoon in my neighborhood. The day was balmy and  Technicolor lovely. (Don’t hate me because I live in Florida.)

Eighteen years in the same neighborhood. Much of it just the way it was when I moved in. Much has changed with houses torn down to make way for widened streets. Houses expanded or built on vacant lots.

Everything is always expanding or making way for something else. Just like my writing life and this crazy experiment of writing a poem a day.

Goodbye, daily poems. Hello, weekly poem. Starting Saturday, December 1, I’ll write/post poems once a week.

I’m closing in on my biggest writing goal yet — completing a poetry chapbook manuscript. I’m taking the month of December to make that (and getting a jumpstart on a full-length poetry manuscript) a reality.

Wish me luck!

The Queen’s New Clothes

I’m leaving right now. I promise.
She ends the call before he could say more.
She imagines the ridge at his brow rising
mountainous in his frustration. She could do
nothing about it or the mountain of shoes —
wedges, kitten heels, a pair of stilettos —
all in black, all some version of dependable.
She refuses to admit she doesn’t know
what she will wear from the equally alpine
dress pile on her bed. Each the same somber hue.
A splash of crimson underneath the bed
decides it all. Out she steps, feet clad in life
body clothed fittingly in its own skin.

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

If you like tonight’s poem, why not show your love and leave a tip through the link below:

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I really liked Brenda’s poem and want her to continue writing great poems.


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