Quiet Saturday at Dusk

We both tested negative, but we are still cautious, so we met in Sue’s back yard, sat 6 feet apart, and talked about the Olympics, Kamala Harris, and Palestine. A friend had given us a massive coffee cake, so we called Sue’s elder son Shawn (the one who doesn’t have Covid) and asked him to join us, eat cake, and take the rest home with him. Sue planted assorted zinnias that are blooming like mad right now. I think of them as my birthday flower, and I couldn't resist at least one photo (extra). 

I went back to my apartment early, had a stroll at dusk and made this quiet photo; at home, read more of Clint Smith’s first book of poetry, Counting Descent (2016). A sample:

what the window said to the black boy

when someone breaks me they call it a crime
they call it property damage
they call it breaking the social contract

when someone breaks you they call it inevitable
they call it your fault
they call it wednesday

they say that it’s you who came cracked
came shattered right out the box
but they don’t know that this is just something you do

to show how many of you there are
that none of you are the same
that the more shards there are

the more ways there are
to refract this light
that envelops us each day

—Clint Smith.