Discover more from JUDE GOODWIN // CANADIAN POET
This is the first time I've opened this little book of puzzles in 57 days. Old friend, smudged with breakfast fingerprints, dripped here and there with coffee. Fifty -seven days ago I sat in this same chair early morning, flowers just beginning in our garden. Maybe I was listening to a robin at the time or the quiet air of our kitchen, or the soft scrape of my pencil on the newsprint. April 13 is scribbled at the top corner of the page. You used to do that - write the date on your crossword puzzles. But I'm not supposed to think about you. A therapist says, let yourself ruminate for about fifteen minutes, and then carry on with your day. That fifteen minutes was used up by the time I got out of my bed. My bed. Not our bed. Now I sit in my kitchen not our kitchen. The small victories with sudoku are satisfying and reassure me. After all if there's sudoku, there's life and a good cup of Pike Roast and an open July window letting in the robin's song.