Time Out

My to-do lists have grown appendages
are teaming up in a huddle
plotting their next play

Wait a minute, Guys! I plead
the afternoon sun has caught me
at just the right angle,
and my chair,
with a mind of its own,
is reclining…

Can’t we save the game day antics
for another time…

(Image my own)

Crash

Rear-ended
by proverbial truck

Unexpectedly, I claim
denying accountability

Sure, I took chances
crossed the line

Rebelliously ignored
limits, road signs

Driven by compassion
open-doored willingness

Saw the danger too late
swerving only mitigated damage

Humiliated by the impact
reckless ego smarting.

(image my own)

If I Were a Kitchen

If I were a kitchen,
I’d want an old-fashioned woman
at my counters – rolling dough
canning pickles, chutney, jam,
homemade pasta sauce,
and every Sunday, a roast.
She’d wear her sweat like a saint,
ignore her aching back –
one practiced hand feeding
her Carnation baby, while
other children flocked to Formica,
hot flesh sticking to vinyl
as they picked at fresh made
sweet buns, the pot on the stove
perpetually simmering.

Or give me modern efficiency –
ninjas and presses, air fryers
and induction cookers –
let the children belly up
to the breakfast bar, chomp
on veggies and humus, while
cook totes baby in a sling,
and preps bone broth,
strains of Baby Einstein
emitting from a propped up iPad,
while a cellphone vibrates
on granite, and the Keurig
spits out Starbucks Pike.

Just don’t abandon me,
piles of unopened mail,
or tossed aside receipts
company for coffee rings
on my counters.
Please don’t litter my surfaces
with rotting takeout containers, or
dishes caked with processed cheese –
don’t leave my stainless steel sinks
stained, spoiled food reeking
in the refrigerator, traces
of late night mishaps curdling
on the floor; absence of familiar
sounds declaring my presence invalid.

(Rewrite of a rewrite. Image my own)

Note To Self

Checking symptoms for possible diagnosis: tab 1
Searching for gluten free recipes for leftover turkey: tab 2
Black Friday specials on tab 3
Writing a blog post on tab 4
Email on tab 5

Too many tabs open to concentrate
and Christmas is looming
and the fridge needs cleaning
and I got the groceries
but forgot the milk
and potatoes
and guests are coming
and laundry is piling up

and,
and,
and…

Somewhere at the bottom of the pile
is a note to self:
compassion.

(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: My brain has too many tabs open; and Eugi’s Weekly prompt: compassion. Image my own)

Stolen Identity

The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once vital but oppressed
Miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.

The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.

(A quirky rant for Reena’s Xploration challenge: a stolen identity ; and Eugi’s weekly prompt: shadows. Art my own)

Martyr’s Lament

I wake before dawn,
drive through blinding snowstorms,
if lost, alter course – without faltering –
even set out on foot when driving
becomes impossible, navigating
treacherous snow and ice, for you

So you can get where you need to be
So you can succeed
I risk it all for you

I keep you by my side
so that you will be safe
so that I can ensure your arrival

But, I grow weary, and my body
won’t go on, and all I ask for
is that we rest awhile,
so that I can catch my breath

And in that instance, you are gone –
no hesitation in your step, no looking back –
and when you finally stop to wait for me
it is too late…

A barrier has grown between us:
like an eight-foot, chain-link fence
separating me from protecting you

And you look at me with that glare
of exasperation that says:
“I should have done it on my own.”

Wait! Wait, I say.
This wall may seem insurmountable
but I can do it. I can do it; give me time.
I’ll just climb to the top.
It’ll be easy; you’ll see!

Don’t walk away! Give me one more chance
to prove my love. I do it all for you.

(Martyr’s Lament first appeared here in November, 2014.
This version is a rewrite. Image my own.)