Thursday, March 1

interrupted by a blackbird

in the middle of washing grime from the oven with bright yellow liquid I hear a warbling blackbird. he sings to me: "don't forget to write your small stone today, don't forget to look at the sky where scribbled plane-trails criss-cross the blue, don't forget to notice the skeletal rose-bush has sprouted plump spherical buds full of promise. don't forget."