I will take the time to linger by the lake,
To touch my toe tips to its cool surface and watch the flash of fish
Slip beneath the weeds.
Tomorrow I will pluck a daisy, counting off the petals,
Each one a vindication or a soft rejection, who needs that kind of
Fickle love anyway?
Tomorrow I will bake the bread, rolling and kneading and
Watching it rise, the smell of warm yeasty goodness almost making me
Swoon with giddiness.
Tomorrow I will honor the friends whose days were cut short,
I’ll wear patchouli on my wrists and dress in a gypsy skirt, maybe with bells
Announcing my arrival.