Untitled Poem — Hurricane House Journal

Untitled Poem
by
Frances de Larminat

I like the silk feeling of this pen.
And the walking trail I see from my small
but useful and charming kitchen.
What’s going on, I wonder?
This.
This is going on.
Nothing else at the moment. Not here in any case.
Maybe down the road, a bird flies off of a tree.
But who knows for sure anyway...
Not me.
All I know for sure is this. This right now.