Poem for Friday and Skipley Farm

Poem in Which I Only Use Vowels
By Paola Capó-García

Poem in which I have wisdom.
Poem in which I have a father.
Poem in which I care.
Poem in which I am from another country.
Poem in which I Spanish.
Poem in which flowers are important.
Poem in which I make pretty gestures.
Poem in which I am a Deceptacon.
Poem in which I am a novelist.
Poem in which I use trash.
Poem in which I am a baby.
Poem in which I swaddle.
Poem in which I bathe.
Poem in which I am a box.
Poem in which its face is everything.
Poem in which faces are everywhere.
Poem in which I swear.
Poem in which I take an oath.
Poem in which I make a joke.
Poem in which I can’t move.

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I was a still a little out of it on Thursday morning -- my arm felt like it had a fever, I had a bit of a headache, and my foot was still sore from overtaxing it in Seattle. So I had a quiet morning with cats piled on top of me now that the temperature is dropping, then after lunch we went out to the bank, CVS (for orthotic inserts), and Giant (to restock after travel). 

We took a walk because it was a gorgeous afternoon and we're expecting tropical storm rain for the next several days to keep us indoors a lot. After dinner (veggie burgers), we watched She-Hulk (I really love Jen, but die Josh die), then some of the Dolphins-Bengals game around my Thursday night fan chat. Here are some photos from Skipley Farm in Snohomish outside Seattle: