A little story about poetry

I didn’t like it either once. I still don’t like all of it, so, I get it.

You think it’s too vague or flowery, or something. You‘d rather things just be said plain. I get it.

My dog, Lola, had her first seizure when my husband and I were away for the weekend trying to find our way back to each other.

Our daughter dialed us from the depths of the depression she was hiding under her bed.

Nervous raindrops thumped the windshield as we sped home, my hand on my husband’s thigh.

Lola zoomed to meet us at the door, wiggling.

We all laughed, and held each other, and lost track of which tears were for what. Then we ordered pizza.

Poetry can be like that too.

@CreativeChaos