Russian hay field, and Vera by the Volga River.
The Twenty-Ninth Poem October 16, 2022
Sometimes I lose things when
I hid them for safe keeping.
It’s part of the way my life
is now. Full of surprises.
I thought I was turning off
the oven, but I had turned
it to broil. And four loaves
got scorched black. I was
the one who scraped off the
burn. The bread itself tasted
fine. I also signed up for
something evil. Too naive
I guess. I had to backtrack
and learn how to get loose.
I don’t like it when they
scold me as if I were a
careless child. I can see
their point of view, but it
still hurts when they try to
teach me what I already
know. The bread is okay
now, and I’m okay. “Live
and learn” still works. I do.
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