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Prelude
Jacqueline DeBorde

In the grey of November
I let the specter of Protestant work ethic
drive me into the drizzle to weed.
Pulling up tufts I glimpse
from the corner of my eye
the shiny green of the frog
whose song I’ve been enjoying these dreary days every time it rains—
unsheltered it freezes beneath my hapless gaze
and in my shame I retreat to the house.

—
Jacqueline writes, hikes, gardens, attempts poetry, and wrestles with hard truths and small children in Oregon.

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Have you read these poems:
Wake by William Orem
Boogie-woogie Woman by Mark Thalman

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