Thinking about writing.

No decisions in February.

Poetry about running in the rain.

No decisions in February 

she said

and she believed it

like some mystic’s mantra that would 

save everyone around us.

Darker there, colder, shorter days even,

she runs in the rain

hooded slicker

worn, wet sneakers

splashing through puddles

saying to herself

no decisions in February.

No decisions for husband

no decisions for sons

no decisions.


No decisions in February 

she said

and I believed her

like a freezing, drowning, blind rat

that will grab hold of the smallest thing 

to save itself.

Driving through the daily dim

on some kind of secret mission

that is secret even to me.

Determined to make it to the end

though the end seems nearer than it should.


No decisions in February 

she said

and I believe it.

No decisions about 

work or life or art or longing

or who to be

or what to give up for Lent.

I will refuse to decide except

to decide not to decide.

Maybe later

in March

or October. 

for Ellie

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