GRIEF, that the ROAST must be set aside.
Anxiety, that there is to be no reading from the TORAH, no lighting of the six candles, then the seven.
Furtive touches to the chest and a sense of wonder that the heart keeps on – ventricles, AORTA, vena cava – despite the sense of breaking

Georg’ann

Such thick FROST
Windows are white, I cannot see out.
Cocooned under layers of blankets.
Wind howls, occasion sounds of something human or animal
Am I imagining it? Pervasive thoughts of danger outside these white windows
Thoughts become a piercing THORN
What am I to do with GATOR?
The Shining or Florida? Unappealing associations.
Change channel, ponder a TORTA rich enough to clog the lines to any AORTA

Heather