November Project: Day 6

[calissa]

As I mentioned yesterday, I have been struggling to learn to write poems again. So I'm a little tender about sharing this, but I wanted to anyway--partly because I wouldn't mind hearing some thoughts on it (and whether those last two parts need more of a bridge) and partly as a way of reciprocating to the tender, vulnerable poems I've been reading in my flist of late.

Tired of reaching for
words that remain dammed,
I scrub away the soap scum
in the shower with chapped hands,
wondering when I became so crusted over with
“can you pick up some milk?”
“you never put your washing away”
and “are you going to be home for dinner?”
that I have forgotten how to play,
to pause,
to love.

Maybe I’m too worn with scrubbing mold
to learn to be a baby again.
And who wants to hear about a love that’s old
and careless enough to have lost its tenderness?

And then he sees me
standing half in the shower--
scrubbing brush in one hand,
pen in the other--
scribbling down some notes.
He smiles.
“Inspiration strikes at any time, eh?”
And offers up his lips.

Comments

[lynnoconnacht]

*hugs back* Thank you for sharing it. <3

A bit. ^-^ I'm glad I finally read this. It's a lovely piece.