The months used to stack like unpaid grey bills
My phone buzzed all night long with urgent chills
I’d eat on the run and forget my own name
The clock on the wall kept playing a losing game
But today the paper sits blank on the desk
The kettle sings soft, the morning is a rest
I step to the garden where the marigolds shine
The breeze takes its time, and so do I mine
No due dates are knocking the back of my head
Just the creak of the porch and the scent of bread
A neighbor’s dog yawns in the sun’s slow gold
I have nowhere to be, I have no truth to hold
The rhythm of my breath is the only clock I need
The wallet's silence is a song I now read
I pour my tea and watch it steep
The day goes at a pace I keep
The kettle hums low
The steam curls up in a slow bow
No panic in my chest, no rush in my head
I just sip my tea and watch the hours spread
The sun clips the hedge
The cat stretches out on the window ledge
I'm finally learning to grant me grace
A day with no ticking from any face
Soft and slow
The lunch dishes dry in the air by the sink
A spider is looping a web on the brink
The radio mumbles some old station call
I turn up the volume and hum to the wall
The mail truck arrives but no urgent envelope
Just a postcard with a stamp of a telescope
I paste it in a book with cracked leather spine
The days I collect here taste like a fine wine
I knead the dough slowly, it takes all my time
The kitchen becomes a perfect rhyme
I dust off my apron and water the thyme
The herbs in the pot seem to sway with the chime
The only deadline left is the golden afternoon
The dishes can wait while I hum a low tune
I give the clock a lazy wave
And slowly savor the noon I save
The kettle hums low
The steam curls up in a slow bow
No overdue notice will break my calm
My hands untied from the monthly palm
The laundry line sways
The water hose coils in a patient maze
My bank balance can dip but I still am fed
The plants in the earth are my daily bread
That's enough
