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This week’s round up is hosted by Ruth at there is no such thing as a God-forsaken town.

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Did some of you receive this gem in your inbox this week? Not three weeks post-election and I needed this!

 

I Wake up in the Underworld of My Own Dirty Purse

Karyna McGlynn

 

I delight especially in the final stanza:

 

For lack of space: Please Help.

This is what I’ve been reduced to.

I hope someone Up There is looking

for me. I hope my Mother is

burning the goddamn crops.

 

Don’t we all –at some point– simply want to burn it all down and start over?

 

For now, here’s to the junk drawers, the dark and dusty bowels of our closet bottoms, and wherever else we madly search for what is lost.

Friends, 

I am planning to take a small hiatus from the weekly Poetry Friday posts. Besides the coming holidays, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed time-wise.  My elderly parents continue their slow decline; one of our sons was laid off; — both of which require physical and emotional presence. And I want and need desperately to maintain a small portion of my time for writing (as opposed to posting). 

I will “see” you all in the new year. May the remaining weeks of 2024 bring rest, healing, and comfort. And may they be a source of gratitude and joy.

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