Of all the technological advances and clever innovations, there still wasn’t one that solved her urgent need for a bathroom when she was in the car. So, until then, she just wasn’t going to be impressed.
My trade in life, 20 years of it
demands that I deliver
both brevity and clarity –
I am constantly
parsing and whittling,
editing myself down to the one
perfect – but ordinary – word
that says everything that once was stated with 30.
And then there’s my own personal penchant for sparsity and nuance.
Any novel I might have once
held inside of me
has been reduced to a few disjointed blog posts.
By the time I finish some projects,
I actually delete the whole thing
and have nothing.
Or I don’t write enough and
no one knows what I mean;
they fill in the spaces between with
their own thoughts.
But its not just my writing.
It’s also what I do in my dealings with other people.
I don’t say enough.
Or I’m worried I won’t make sense so I refrain.
Maybe I finally decide to say nothing at all because
it isn’t going to make a difference
and in the silence, I am interpreted and inferred into
something that is not my own.
I’m quiet a lot.
Feeling too much perhaps.
But very quiet.
i am restless,
out of place, so
i dream about moving to a town
so far away and small that
i am unknown — where the
only talk at the local diner is
the weather and coffee refills
but i stay here instead, practiced
pleasantries obscuring quiet
hope in a swirl of spoiled
I walk the entire perimeter of the cafeteria.
I almost eat a salad (!).
But eventually I reach for a peanut butter & jelly sandwich.
Why? Because by lunchtime, I have succeeded in working myself into a sappy sack over sad old memories and things I can’t fix and stuff I’ve lost. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that PB&J can make so many sad things better.
here i am, internet surfing for garb for my upcoming ‘life-force yoga’ retreat. and i guess i’m learning that it’s a ‘thing’ that all yoga tops must be shaped like loose spider webs that hang off your breasts. and i suppose no regular shapely and firm yoga-doing person cares much that i hate spider webs and that the last thing that hung off my boobs was a nursing baby who won the Nobel Prize in Physics for her contribution to the study of the acceleration of mass toward gravity. and i wish i had paused – for even just one moment – before saying yes to something i had honestly thought was a “star wars” trilogy movie marathon weekend for ladies.
moment of bliss,
best cut with a
when i get in the car,
i have this vision
of my death
maybe it’s the news
on the radio – but
the sun is shining
and then there’s that
hurtling rush of
darkness and sound,
then frozen silence –
and the sun is shining.
It was one of those days when the very best news was that her bladder still worked during long meetings to which she rushed.
somehow, every single couch in the house was claimed by some other being /not her
she had even spent an afternoon rearranging the living room /feng shui be damned
so that the couch no longer gave the dog a good view out the front window /triumph
and now that couch contained a smallish girl with long bony legs /back to square one
and in the TV room the sofa had already become an oversized dog bed /who’s in charge