Picked up a random poetry book From the crowded shelf. Quick easy hour read: Delight and wonder. Then, Found…
Moments By Moments With Anxiety
I sit down to write a poem.
The words like smoke linger in my memory from upstairs to down.
A pair of loving hands hold my heart, encouraging me.
A swift breeze picks up within my mind…
Ideas like clouds gathering water from land.
A distant clatter sounds an alarm.
My eyes look up to the possible emergency…
A precious brunette-haired child,
With angel kissed freckles on her cheeks,
Rumbles down the stairs towards me.
She lays her head in my lap, delightful warmth,
Her phone beeping had disturbed her peaceful dreams
When I had texted her earlier.
She takes my silver MacBook,
Sitting up purposefully as a kid hearing the ice cream truck.
My writing endeavor loses to motherhood once more.
I smile at the inevitability of my life.
We soon watch an energetic compilation video to the song,
“Footloose,”
Showcasing different movie clips
With actors over the decades
Dancing happily to enticing beats.
My little one gives me a disdainful look,
“This is boring.”
I let out a sigh of impatience.
She turns YouTube to a parody on Disney’s Frozen 2,
Where Elsa is singing everything she is literally doing
Instead of what she is feeling.
Ironic?
I get up to check on my little green plants,
Tiny seedlings sprouting now taller in solid containers.
Sunshine through glass catches my eye:
Pink tulips have blossomed;
Brown weathered leaves still sit on the patio,
Waiting for me to sweep to the compost.
I picture myself swishing and scraping the unwanted fibers.
Then weariness cramps my legs and
I return to the plush cushiony couch.
A to-do list waits for me to respond;
Messages from family distract me
Before I go and check on Scrabble Go.
Is it my turn to make a worthy word?
Good intentions,
Multiple distractions.
Living with anxiety is like
A pool of endless ocean waves,
With the incoming and outgoing of treasured relics
Left behind after a mighty storm.
A broken telescope;
An old, empty plastic bottle;
A lost, lonely rubber flip flop:
And sea crabs work hard to gather it all up,
Hoping as a child for delicious treats.
Hope goes out swiftly with the tide at dawn
And returns graciously with the moon at night.
Check out my novel, Married to an Atheist a Love Story from Idaho, on amazon.com. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!