May 2017
While my three children were young, I wrote just enough poetry to give me an inkling that I might have an aptitude for it, but I wasn’t brave enough to throw my earning potential aside until my family was grown and I’d worked for a number of years. As time went on, I came to regret not having devoted myself to writing much earlier in life. The “now or never” decision came about 20 years ago—my late-in-life career—and the process of creating a poem still gives me enormous satisfaction. I’m gratified that my poetry is widely published in the small press and equally gratified by becoming part of a larger community of writers. For my publishing credits:
lindamfischer.com
lindamfischer.com
My War with the Squirrels
I’m losing it. Leafy tufts
of maple, the tips of branches,
rain down for breakfast,
lunch and supper—not mine,
though I collect the scraps and play
dutiful housewife to their gluttony.
Tidy is the month of May
and tidier still would be
my mowed lawn and garden
were it not for these ruinous marauders
who remind me daily that perfection
is as illusory as a wayward dream,
and that mayhem is out of the question.
--first published in my chapbook Raccoon Afternoons
I’m losing it. Leafy tufts
of maple, the tips of branches,
rain down for breakfast,
lunch and supper—not mine,
though I collect the scraps and play
dutiful housewife to their gluttony.
Tidy is the month of May
and tidier still would be
my mowed lawn and garden
were it not for these ruinous marauders
who remind me daily that perfection
is as illusory as a wayward dream,
and that mayhem is out of the question.
--first published in my chapbook Raccoon Afternoons
© 2017 Linda M. Fischer
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