(in the folds of lasts week’s)
(or maybe last year’s laundry)
(when I’m not a mother)
who wrote poetry
(or being a lover )
drew still life
(balancing the checkbook)
(scrubbing a dirty collar)
and painted murals
(while vacuuming the carpets, again)
that did embroidery
(after the button is sewed on the shirt, again)
is in the mirror
(that needs to be cleaned, again)
trying to find herself
(after working overtime, again)
because she got lost
(showing someone else how)
(in the folds of last week’s)
(or maybe last years’ laundry)…
This poem is actually a little over 12 years old. We were in the process of packing to move into our house and my then fiance, now late-husband, had found my composition book from high school with poetry. We had living together over thirteen years and he had never known that about me. He asked one thing: What happened? I did not have an answer for him. Nor did I know how to pick-up my pen again. One day I was looking at my reflection in the mirror, asking myself the same question. I was depressed to realize, though it been a of couple years since he had asked, I still did not have an answer.
Whenever I was upset I would write my feelings to sort them out. Usually, I would write it, read it and toss it. This time I did not toss it because something in those words had reached me. What reached me became the first three/last three lines of the above poem. It was perhaps only the third poem I had written in a nearly twenty year span at that point. Granted, it was one small sad little poem, but it was the first big crack in the wall of the dam blocking my creativity. A dam I was only just beginning to realize I had built and now needed to tear it down.
smiles…its cool…the twin realities here…
they are not seperate, but taking responsibility in our lives,
having a family, it takes quite a bit out of you…but you still have emotions
and you still have things to write…cool structure in this…
what happens? life happens…and we can use it for a reason to write and connect, or we can use it as the excuse.
For a reason or far an excuse, that is it in a nutshell. Thanks Brian.
Bravo! It’s so easy to get sidetracked…especially mothers, and those who work overtime, and clean, and be someone’s lover….and laundress…and on and on. So glad that pen got picked up again…at the exact perfect time, Raivenne.
Oh it is still far too easy to be sidetracked, Bodhirose. Even now, as prolific a writer I am, I cringe to think of all the lines lost to the cosmos because I did not take the time to write them as I thought them, instead choosing to ‘get to it in a minute’ that never came. But I am grateful for the hundreds I do have.
You’re so welcome. I have had the same thing happen to me when a great line or idea will pop into my head and I think that I’ll surely remember it and get to it later. No, I never remember. So sad…
Loved this poem. Keep writing…your poems are cathartic and make people smile…that’s a gift, you know and economic…one size gift fits all:)
Thanks Rallentanda! You are so dead on about the catharsis. I am pretty sure I would be not be here today, had I not found my pen again. That it’s a gift to others as well is a bonus.
(while vacuuming the carpets, again)” that made me smile…
also, loved the background you gave after the poem too… we all get a lost sometimes… life has a way of doing that 🙂 keep writing… no more tossing… smiles
:: Big grins :: I stopped tossing not too long after that, choosing to keep my counsel on more permanent media. Now and then, I will take a trip down memory lane in my journals and get new inspirations from old emotions. Thanks Anthony.
Ah the contrast between ambitions and reality of dirty mirrors and carpet cleaning.. love the story on how poetry caught up with you.. seems so many processes that make people write..
” seems so many processes that make people write.” So many roads, all leading to poetry and prose. As long as we don’t let life get in the way of living. Thanks Björn.