All is well.
All is precariously well.
All is precarious.
The glass tray perched
alongside my thigh on the couch
receives small gray flurries of ash
in the dim red light
of the parlor room.

Here in California
life stretches on
like a long shining hall
of sun and breeze
and so many clouds
that puff and roll.
Each day begins
with no memory of the alarm
that rose it.

Inhale. Thoughts wander back and forth
and from coast to coast.
On the other side of the country
I imagine my oma
half-asleep in lampglow,
resting her aching bones.
From out the window
the jingle of recyclables
and bells of laughter
come and go.

Exhale. In the parlor room’s pink hue
the smoke hangs like a ghost
and disappears. Cigarette out,
the wrench falls from the gears,
sending time along.
All is precarious, I think,
with one final flick of ash.
All is precariously well
and that is all I could possibly ask.

Kelly Jean Egan is a writer and poet living in San Francisco.

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1 Response to Soliloquy

  1. Pingback: Writer – Product, Education, Creative | Vowel Sounds

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