Morning drifts
away with chores
I assign myself:
The must do, the needs to be done—
An endless list to fill a notepad
next to the calendar:
Feed the dogs,
Clean and fill the hummingbird feeders,
Change the sheets,
Do the ironing,
Neatly fold the sheets from the dryer
so they align perfectly on the shelf in the closet--
Leave no time to think.
Even less time to feel.
Keep all thoughts,
All feelings at bay.
Use the list like a whip and a chair.
Let no old cliché hold any sway.
Whip the old “nothing ventured, nothing gained”
into a new pose of Nothing ventured, nothing lost
upon the circus stand,
a much easier creature
to manage this way.
Image courtesy of Sue Vincent Thursday Photo Prompt Challenge For visually challenged writers, theimage shows a flower-strewn cliff-top above the sea, where a rocky outcrop, seemingly shaped into many forms and faces, looks out over the waves. This week’s prompt ~ Guardian
I can hide in catacombs of colors and never look to the sky. My blood shed, bled out in tiny droplets of all the years of parting, dripping, draining in the darkness And carried away, scattered to the winds, Leavings upon the ground, seedless seeds, Sprouting up in colorless flowers of summer without colors, Without the dreams of sunlight on their faces, Without fragrance sweet, divinity in scents we can never forget lost. We learn to live with regrets taken, earned, packed away With the mortgage of things within our hearts, within our lifetimes of meaning, Within our trying just one more damn time, Drifting up in clouds of long-ago cigarette smoke. Crush this dried out husk of me, Scatter those particles of dust to the wind And see if colors sprout once that dust settles upon the ground, See if there’s meaning left within their regrets, See if there’s fragrance, some elegance of divinity within a scent To be remembered when there is nothing, Nothing left but this wisp of memory Within your breath. Let go my hand, love. Leave me wrapped in the shroud Of all my days and regrets shared along the way To here, this time of parting. Leave me to hide away In this catacomb of colors.
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