Wow, I got pretty cranky tonight. I didn’t mean to, one rarely does, but after folding and sorting clothes for hours, I didn’t mean to get pissy when D1 wanted to read a super long book at bedtime, but I did. Seriously? Eff you, Fancy Nancy. Twenty-five pages is too many pages for a mama at bedtime. That’s as twenty-five minute book, minimum, and we all have colds are are tired and did not nap today. Eff off. Seriously, publishers of books for kids. Take a break already.
Today was good, despite of my cranky moment. We made good progress on the whole “Get Life in Order” plan. HP kept his hunting at a minimum, in deference to my car concerns. With the exception of my cranky-pants moment, it was a good day.
But, that said, not particularly poem-worthy. What, should I write a poem about my laundry? Or the fact that I am such a tired mom that I don’t want to read the book my kid picks out? Those are about the feelingest options tonight. And I don’t like either one.
Maybe a blessings poem? A Blessing Bildungsroman? Maybe that could turn it all around.
Aches and Blessings
Now, now recall the ache of witness,
at your parents kissing, if they ever did.
Bear up under the embarrassment
and wonder of that transparent darkness.
This is the love that dare not show its face,
not in front of you, ew, gross.
This passion of theirs,
doesn’t it remind you of sulfur,
all warm-water comfort and unacknowledged smell,
doesn’t it smell like flint?
Didn’t you think they were foolish brass,
and suspect they were dented vessels?
Surely there was some suspicion.
Some worry of muddling right through this project,
just bluffing blind until you got to growing?
Underneath it was always a fine net,
tested and tested and tested, until deemed unbroken,
and this was the net underneath.
Think back on it. Think back on it all the time,
it will feel like aching and blessings.
So, no, that didn’t really turn it around, but it was some kind of expression, so, it’s okay. And also, this is is Wednesday that I don’t have to work late, and that rocks. Happy Wednesday, you people of the poems.