Paying Bills Just Before Midnight
The Sunday hours are the wariest
of next morning’s concoctions.
Is a tablespoon
of cumin enough?
The dog smacks his lips.
Does he wonder about these shortening days?
Whether the sun still traces
the same circle around the earth
spreading patches of orange light
like lichen across bare rock?
fillets are thawing
for their pan-fried debut.
Pruned autumn gives
way to snow-smothered shingles.
Red salmon are finished
with their upstream fight.
And ripped envelopes lie
discarded on the carpet,
empty of their purpose.
Jenny Wong is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Lately, her writings have been more about indoor things, but she still dreams about evening wanderings around Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centres, and Parisian cemeteries. Recent publications include The Night Heron Barks, The Adriatic, and The Shore Poetry. She resides in the foothills of Alberta, Canada and tweets @jenwithwords.