10:18 a.m. Today I should be at work, but I’m at home because this is where I need to be. You see, on Easter Sunday, I went downstairs into our basement and discovered about six inches of water. Fun stuff.

Of course, it happened on Easter. National holiday and all that jazz. Fortunately I have a plumber who doesn’t mind me texting him, and so I did, but I added, please don’t come today. (I knew the price would be astronomical.) I then went downstairs and whacked my sump pump with a broomstick and it kicked on and started working.

Seriously when does that happen?

Anyway, long story short, the plumber is here today, and it’s not going to cost me my food budget for the month, and so I’m making this corner of my world a little better.

But what am I going to write about?

Basements in Eastern North Carolina? Creepy and not the best choice at all.

Plumbers who come to your rescue? Love them, but not poetic.

Which leaves me with the irises that are growing outside my house.

Queens of flowers.

They guard secrets.

This is feeling poetic.

10:26 a.m.

10:35 a.m. Okay, I may have to come back to this. My brain just isn’t doing the poetic thing right now. I’m going to go read over some of my old poems and see if I can get any fresh ideas.

12:39 p.m. That happens sometimes. Just a bit of difficulty focusing with other stuff going on. I’m not writing about Queen Iris, I don’t think. But I’m back in my bookstore now, plumbing has been settled for the moment. I’m counting blessings.

Ode to the Book I Just Sold
by Michelle Garren-Flye

It's not always easy, the bookseller life—
sometimes you want to stop a sale.
I want to keep that one, your soul will wail
as the last touch cuts your heart like a knife.

But letting go is what it's about
so little book I love, go out into the world!
Come back read, with pages bent and curled;
spread the knowledge readers can't do without.

Better, isn't it, than sitting on a shelf all day?
At least maybe make it to a reader's nightstand
where some night she'll pick you up, unplanned,
and get sucked into the worlds you display.

1:20 p.m. Maybe not the best poem I’ve written, but not horrible. I’m running late so I’m not going to rewrite now.