a poem about today

when I got to come

to my home and

eat a dinner of

fried eggplant, onion, and feta

on a sandwich

sitting on the front porch,

plate on top of old bird poop

mostly washed off by rain

hearing the sound

of a pileated woodpecker

rhythmically beating,

then

baking exactly six

chocolate chip cookies

while enjoying fresh coffee

from my new french press,

alone

but not alone

knowing

there is

always enough love