an english teacher's sick day
woozy, dizzy, and
can't find my energy
like a lost book
I email the secretary
for Raelee
editing her story
today, friday
my newest daughter
I touch her forehead
is burning, coughing
so she stays asleep
while out the diningroom window
something in the tree
curls, like a bird's wings
has it rained?
please, God, it hasn't rained
I giggle and dash
outside in my less-than-dressed
not-a-moment-to-spare
Joseph Boyden rescue
from that novel photoshoot
I sleep on it most of the day
dreaming first world war
Cree snipers and canoes
deciding that confession
is good for the sick soul
three day road
to write this poem
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