On Changing My Computer’s Screen Saver

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On Changing My Computer’s Screen Saver

It had been with me
through two computer changes,
before I dated my now husband,
children were adopted, a few moved out.
I’d written several books against its pink petals.
They were tulip magnolias,
the blue sky was royal,
the blossoms back and sunlit.
It was rowdy and galvanizing,
spring on steroids.
Virtual bees were buzzing.

My living room furniture is static
as lion statues guarding the gates of museums,
I’ve had the same hairstyle for four presidents.
I sleep only on ivory sheets.
But then dark gray 800 count Egyptian cotton
was given for a wedding present.
With my coffee, I tried almond instead of cow milk.
My son asked to play Scrabble on a school night
and I say yes instead of no.

I now begin my poems
upon an image of lily pads,
the blank page is a wee sail
eager for wee wind and weather.
The colors are soft as sheep,
calming as sleep,
the leaves are frilled on the edges,
sage green against cloudy water.
Not even a lily beckons,
but there is the possibility of frogs,
little croaks and splashes.