Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Slow



I wake up slow, dreams lingering, whether good 
or dark or strange, they hold 
my arms and whisper. I wake up slow 
and stumble through routine, because routine 
is another kind of medication for me, 
an antidepressant that doesn’t come inside 
orange bottles. I have to want it. 

Breakfast. Meds. Reading something spiritual and then 
there is coffee and the kids are gone to school and the house 
is quiet for a while. I am slow though - 
slow to get started. 

Dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher, and the coffee 
drips into the cup and 
should I pack boxes or work on a project? 
I have an essay due and the floor needs to be mopped. 
Again. 

Sisyphus. 
Me. 
Up the hill of the day until 
the school bell rings and the kids come home, 
and I am tense, trying to balance one son’s moods and 
the other’s exuberance with my own 
exposed nerves, no pills entirely shielding 
me from this. 

I ride the wave, 
and the black water swirls 
so slow, 
no hurricane today, 
just a bathtub draining. 

Back down the hill, I am Sisyphus, 
until the sun sets and the clock blinks an okay time 
to sleep. 

I fall into the fresh cleaned sheets 
and vivid dreams... 

fall slow.

HT


I'm needing a jumpstart and a poet friend, Shaindel, mentioned these Poem-A-Day prompts for April. This one was to write a poem about an adjective.

1 comment:

Leave me some lovin'!

Disqus for Madame Rubies