5:32 p.m. I sit down
at my desk
for the first time today,
an ice pack to my back,
to shell fava beans.
A small sauce pan,
a copper colander,
a bag of beans
which I myself
do not like,
except to rub the
velvety inner part
of the pod
across my lips.
I would move in
to these bean pods
if I could,
with a good book –
a long one,
stretch out the length
of the pod,
its curves embracing
my tired back.