I left myself in the story,
so when I follow my day back,
I find myself there, thoughts clinging,
like sticky vines of cucumber,
to a place I never was,
and the plants that I wrapped carefully
around the strings I trained them to
aren’t even in the picture
except for their texture
and the gentleness I needed
to learn their habit
so I could bend it

And the beauty of the day,
its clarity unveiled
after a morning of clouds
is only reflected
in the contentment I rested in,
letting myself revisit
the story’s storied world.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 8, 2023