National Poetry Day #3

1.

Could I die
sitting on the low wooden step
in a patch of
welcome warm sun,
that unexpected April day?
Coffee falling from my hands
or cooling by my hip
Face tilted up.
Orange glow
fading to white.

2.

Could I die
when a rare wave
catches me in bed reading.
Pulls my eyelids closed
drags my book,
fluttering,
to the floor.
Not disturbing
the cat
in the crook of my leg.

Mary Beth Frezon — 3 April 2011