Abstraction poem

Generosity

My grandparents giving me “pin money.”
Spending it at Barnes & Noble on a rainy Saturday afternoon.
Getting rid of the chill after the bookstore stop by
relaxing amid bubbles in a claw-foot tub,
my book’s pages wilting slightly in the humid air.
Relaxed now, I sink into crisp clean sheets, cool to the touch,
smelling faintly of Tide detergent and bleach,
and I continue with my story all snuggled up and warm.
The hissing of the light rain outside my window slows my breath
and makes my book heavier in my hand.
The rising sun makes the inside of my eyelids go gradually from black to gray.
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I let my toes wiggle
a good morning to the plush pink carpet.
Reaching towards the scarf-covered ceiling my mom’s voice wafts up
the stairs, gently urging me to start my new day.