understanding what I should write about

today,
i will write of blueberry tea
scalding hot in a paper cup

a plastic stirrer pointing east
and artificial sweetener
disolved within.

I will compose long winding verse
twisting between the raucous adjectives
of celebration and demise

to connect the soggy leaves
to the fresh frigid bite of mountain spring.

No one will marvel,
this is blueberry tea.

Tomorrow,
i will write of infant smiles
burping up from baby bellies

a bit of breast milk dripping down
and the real love
of new mothers.

I will compose a miniscule ode
with only soft adverbs and a single longing adjective
of gentle contemplation

to connect the little breaths
to each heart that hears.

No one will marvel then either,
this is only life.