In Recovery

Waking from an overdose of bed-rest,
I remove the infusion of soup and hot tea and stumble
to the mirror to assess progress.
Not the percentage I'd hoped for
but enough to exchange a cotton gown
for dress pants and a sweater.
Shrugging into my warmest coat,
I brace for January air and step outside.
Exhaling in a billow of white vapor,
I can see that I've survived.

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Caught in Christmas Music

The distant thumps of a tight bodhrán punctuate the gaiety of a playful tin whistle as I, lost in reverie, stand amid the frigid wind  ...