There are poppies blooming on my kitchen table. Orange, red and one that looks like the inner pink of a shell when it is still in the water. I love that pink. I have spent the evening being a human taxi and it also seems that while I was sleeping, or writing or trying to figure myself out, my eldest child decided to grow up and turn 15 this week.
Side note: people are continually asking me how old my children are and then completely freaking out that I have a 15 year old daughter. I want to take this as a compliment, but most of the time I just think they are making judgment about my decision to procreate at 26.
I really want to believe it is the vitamin C skin cream I wear but I don’t.
I haven’t read a good book of poetry in what feels like a 100 years and it is really making me sad. I want a really good, good, good book. Please poetry gods send me one. Please. I’ll share my skin cream.