Diner Sonnet

We are not born to be pollen.
We are born to be WILDflowers.
The grey hair and wrinkles and faces of judgement look familiar and I am brought to a burning well of saline in my eyes.
It makes my dining alone experience feel lonely.
I can’t bring myself to put down my handwritten armor.
I am needed soon.
Elsewhere.
But Fleetwood Mac and watered down coffee seems so much more like home.
And home, in essence, is being in the woods with a tiny airport across the way and the comforting smell of summer living.
I am done for now.
My mind is at peace.
But the storm is still coming.

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