Living with the Unwritten

Impossible to ignore –
even though I’ve tucked it away
there, between the chair
and credenza –
a life-sized story,
waiting to be told.

As much as it compels me
to pay attention,
I am repulsed –
this is my life
we’re talking about

And not just mine –
the tale weaves itself
with tragic threads of others
and what right do I have
to expose that?

And yet, I don’t know
that I have the strength
to squash it – this living
breathing thing…
wandering aimlessly
about this house.

(Image my own)


Published by


Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

37 thoughts on “Living with the Unwritten”

  1. I struggle with that challenge to balance a desire to speak openly, speak my truth, but knowing how intertwined I am with others, do I expose them as well? Thanks for putting words to my struggle.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Funny story: I let my mom read the memoir I am working on, warning her it was personal. At the end her complaint was: “You should write more of my story”.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Having been away for the summer, I’ve been taking some time to catch up on your work. Looking at a whole group at one sitting, I’m so struck by the depth, quality and consistency of your work! And then, you add the artwork. πŸ˜‰ Just wonderful.
    P.S. This particular poem really touched me.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You know I love all of your poems, and this one is no different. You tell so much in just a few words, a true poet. Also, only a poet can use the word credenza so eloquently πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.