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Today I Am

By Amy Christman

PROMPT — Who am I today?

Today I am content to sit in the late summer heat, the big Maples stretching their shade across the August lawn, mottled, parched, barely growing, and I feel that lethargy in the soles of my bare feet, barely a tickle of motivation.

Today I am unmoving, unmoved.

There is a breeze, blue sky, clouds, swift and determined, looking like they have someplace to be, and I am suddenly jealous of their freedom. Today I am tired of being rooted to this corner of my life, this waiting and uncertainty teases like the full-bodied begonias, studded with tiny buds that swelled and withered all Summer, but never bloomed, their jeweled centers hinted at secrets and sublimated joy.

Today I am feeling cheated, and restless.

A dimpled copper can that once

held cookies, a gift from a friend,

now newly planted, sits on the deck’s

lower stair, spilled dirt, a puddle

of water, the memory of silky roots

in my hands, the lingering scent

of darkness on my skin. Dusty

green leaves on deep purple

stalks, these slips rescued from

a sweet potato left too long

in the humidity of the kitchen

a way to make more from the

too little we’ve endured.

Today I am feeling virtuous,

in possession of a promise

whose progression I can measure,

the way each day is measured, not

by what we have accomplished,

but simply by what we have held,

and witnessed, and loved.


Amy Christman is a poet and retired Librarian living in Tonawanda, NY. Her poetry has been published in a number of newspapers, small press magazines, and appears in the book Scribing the Soul: Essays in Journal Therapy by Kathleen Adams.


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