Wrote yesterday's poem, posted it on the Writer's Digest blog, hung on to it in case I had a chance to revise it before putting it on my blog...and then went to bed really early without posting it.
Here it is.
After the Tour
When she comes home she shakes off
the rain and begins again. Like a dog,
like a crocus, like the chorus of a song.
She is naked and new.
Whatever collects on her glittery dress
will be shed with it.
Whatever catches in her pewter-brown hair
will be washed away.
The sorrows and joys within these walls
cut to the bone, but their scars are
a bas-relief, a story told creation by creation,
a pain salved by beauty.