PAD 8
Infrastructure
Created carefully,
this was to be her sanity,
or at least evidence,
that her efforts were
beyond reproach.
There would be no
"Good job, Brownie" for her.
Chores broken down
by hour, day, week, month.
In February,
the date for Christmas shopping
had been planned.
Errand and shopping list
were always tucked in her purse.
Sandbags piled on the river's edge.
Only after being shored and prepared
could come coffee, journal and pen.
That was the problem.
Ink does not bow to a schedule.
Breath and blood and madness flow,
breaching levees.
Forgotten lists and agendas drowned,
but life pounded inside her
once again.
The prompt for the day was routine.
Created carefully,
this was to be her sanity,
or at least evidence,
that her efforts were
beyond reproach.
There would be no
"Good job, Brownie" for her.
Chores broken down
by hour, day, week, month.
In February,
the date for Christmas shopping
had been planned.
Errand and shopping list
were always tucked in her purse.
Sandbags piled on the river's edge.
Only after being shored and prepared
could come coffee, journal and pen.
That was the problem.
Ink does not bow to a schedule.
Breath and blood and madness flow,
breaching levees.
Forgotten lists and agendas drowned,
but life pounded inside her
once again.
The prompt for the day was routine.
Labels: poetry
posted by Cynthia at
9:12 PM
1 Comments:
...ink does not bow to a schedule.
Breath and blood and madness flow...
What wonderful, powerful words. I think that these will stay with me, and come unbidden when I least expect. Already I hear hear them whispering in my ear. And to think they came from as innocuous a prompt as 'routine'. I don't know how you do this everyday! It's quite a challenge you've set for yourself, and clearly risen to.
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