Daily Practice

I'm really liking this daily practice thing. I narrowed mine down to a poem a day. It's certainty; if I write a poem a day, in a year, I'll have written 365 poems. That's all there is to it. It will be that way, and the only way it won't is if I don't write a poem every day. I find that I'm hardly resenting my new obligation; I actually look forward to it. It's a break from homework, it's better than watching TV, and I genuinely enjoy doing it. I honestly didn't expect it to be that way. What's keeping me going is how excited I'll be in a year, writing Day 365 at the top of my page. I'm even excited to write Day 15. Anyway, here I am on Day 4 and already feeling a hell of a lot better than I felt a week ago. Here's poem numero 4.

February decided to stay a while, so we
adjusted to salting the frozen rain
on the doorstep. Crunchy grass began our
days. Our down-filled coats never made it back
to the closet. I knew that if you called
to me, the hot water must be done, and if your
guitar was away when I walked
in the door, you had heard me
coming. Your words sounded like
footsteps upstairs. You walked like you
were facing the wind. The radiator
covered midnight silence. I'd fall asleep
aware of the light
in the bathroom where you shaved your graying
beard.