I retrace the familiar while I lie on the table in the doctor’s office each week. This room has eleven ceiling tiles: square and white.
A different doctor, a different retracing, but still familiar. Twelve ceiling tiles: rectangle and ivory.
A new room this day. Rare: finger-paintings with primary colors—palm trees, sun—atop square and white.
I study the rare.
Hundreds of doctors’ appointments. Retracing hundreds of solitudes.
But the prayers for a song to come in the night, comes.
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
Keeping time, I retrace the chorused Hope.
Watching and waiting, I look above.
“One Hundred Words” will be a periodic series of different blog post shorts—a mix of prose and poetry—consisting of one hundred words. Let me know what you think.