First Monday Without the Office

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

At nine, the neighbors leave for work. She watches from the garden with coffee cooling in both hands. For thirty years Monday meant keys, traffic, passwords, and somebody waiting for an answer. Today she plants three herbs, then misses the people, then enjoys not missing the deadline. Retirement allows both truths to occupy the same quiet morning.
57 words · 11 lines · Free Verse
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