I force myself to discard
Paper dinner napkins.
Conservation can be taken too far.
Long ago a boyfriend saved his glass at lunchtime,
Set it daily on the kitchen window sill, still
Half full of water.
The sun on its rounds didn’t miss a thing,
Lighting up the dull spot
Where his lips, greasy with peanut butter,
Had kissed the rim.
Paper dinner napkins.
Conservation can be taken too far.
Long ago a boyfriend saved his glass at lunchtime,
Set it daily on the kitchen window sill, still
Half full of water.
The sun on its rounds didn’t miss a thing,
Lighting up the dull spot
Where his lips, greasy with peanut butter,
Had kissed the rim.
It’s funny where our minds go sometimes. I haven’t written a
poem in more years than I can say. My brother is always writing them. Joe begins
every blog with a new poem.
Actually, I was trying to get out of writing when I turned off the light in my office, minimized
my computer screen, and escaped to the simple task of fixing a sandwich.
I have a long to-do list. When you work at home, the hours
blur. Your duties blur. Freedom blurs with responsibility. You think: Should I do this, or that? Put my nose to
the grindstone, or do nothing? Get busy, or grab some “me” time? It’s easy
to question everything and far easier to go downstairs, make a sandwich, and linger
over it.
Just as I was getting up from the table, the poem popped
into my mind. It’s part of a whole story I might tell one day.
Nice. Made me feel a little sad, then I felt a little tug in my shoulders turn to a shrug of, "Humf, moving on, I'm good now." Don't know if that was what you felt but it did me good anyway.
ReplyDeleteI loved your poem, philosophical, thoughtful and just so very touching. You should never overlook the urge to do a poem or "just write" which you do so beautifully. It's such a cold, rainy day and your blog lifted me and gave me more insight into your many talents. Absolutely loved this!
ReplyDeleteHi Debi,
ReplyDeleteThe subject of the poem is a memory I think about every now and then, mostly glad to be in a different kitchen now. That it came out as a poem this time surprised me. I, too, moved on from the poem easily, but now I find myself making new notes. Talk about an "aha" moment. It has taken me fifteen years to realize that the larger story is not about the other person; it's about me. And that makes me smile, as though I have solved a puzzle. Thanks for your note.
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ReplyDeleteBetty, thank you. It's always nice to have readers and to be complimented. You have been such a good friend to Joe and me. Even though it's raining in Cary, have a great day.
ReplyDeleteMy responses were posted out of order; I guess it was the timing.
Jane,
ReplyDeleteIt amazes me how I can relate to your writing, in "Dracula" and in your blogs. Took me a long time to realize that I even had a larger story.
Bless you and keep writing.
Mary
Hi Mary,
ReplyDeleteI hope that one day we can meet in person to have a nice, long talk to make up for the fact that we hardly knew one another even though we attended the same high school. Thanks for your comment. Yes, those realizations are gold. I had been thinking of writing about the one thing for years, using journals I have held onto, but I did not see the whole story until today, not really. Have a great weekend.
I want to hear that story!
ReplyDeleteDebbie, that story could easily become another book. That's not to say that writing it would be an easy process, but the story is there. Thanks for your note.
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