Short of abruption
I pause to examine salt shakers
and spindle my irritation
against her fancy

Grinders -
My mother holds them
in contempt
She who salts
before taste
a matriarch of
storied rain

But I have forgotten myself
in the din of carpenters
the inclusion of alcoves
and disingenuous equations

I piece together menus
scarlet with passion
I skitter urbane and
blend simplicity in
an effort to please

Gumption follows me blind
in biscuits and gravy
A spread of cotton for day
where sterling breathes the night
with linens and crème brulee
set against the lakeshore

I meddle in ethereal . . .


Born and raised in the heart of the Midwest, Nora D Watterson, the third of four children, has always possessed a wild spirit .Though she never completed high school,  she is an avid reader, and has dabbled in poetry and short stories over much of the past 15 years.