August 22, 2015

Grabbed some calm, sat in the garden and wrote yesterday evening.

Rose up and went from one café to another, grabbing more calm.
   
Michael Collins died today.
   
Two men greet each other at Starbuck’s. #2 is reading a bible.
    One: “Hello! How ya doin’?”
    Two: “You know I’m doin’ fine, and you know why.”
    One: “Yes, yes I do.”
    Two: “He is on the throne. That is the only reason.”

 Ten minutes later: a woman at Starbucks stares at me for a moment and says, “You’re Pope. . . Hope. . . what is it?”
    “Hopes.”
    “Yes.  I’m Lee. I know you. You are the poet. When Asheville was changing into what it is now, you put an indelible mark on it. You gave it a written word.”
    She got her coffee. I pried my chin up off the table.

Can’t stay awake. It’s the pain medication. After every labor I must go lie down. Theater tonight in Waynesville.
   
Everything blooming.