As long as I can remember I have been writing. Sometimes it gets in the way. Sometimes it is the way.
images come seeping up through
the floor of that other life
that life filled with flour and yeast
for bread-making and the brush
that scours the toilet on Saturdays
words come up, seeping through the carpet
that needs to be vacuumed
holding the dishes in the sink
words muddy the water of responsibility
undammed and demanding
they keep the roast in the refrigerator
the unforgiving aunt comes in unannounced
finds unmade beds
heaps of laundry, musty towels
books everywhere and piles of paper
covered with impatient marks
words that will not wait for punctuation
the well of words cannot be stopped
words trickle in around the baseboard
words that won't settle with the dust
muddy works that slide down in dismay
clear images that glint in the sun
tattered silken sounds of moving water
soft white snow that sheds light on dark places
images not caught float by
dry in the sun
evaporate
are gone
1 comment:
Wow. I so relate to that, mom.
Today, I finished remodeling a story. I warned my girls, yesterday, that I had to get it done today so they would have to watch the baby.
I chopped off the first two sections, one of which I'd just written last week. I removed various bits all through the story, and added many more bits, including bringing a subplot that was necessary but had started way to late, to near the beginning of the story. And then, I cut the tail off.
It was hard. And very little else got done. But that did, today. And baby has great sisters who really worked hard to keep me working.
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