Monday, April 28, 2014

Month of Poetry, 2014, Day 28: A Moment

A Moment

after a day--
may days--
of perpetual motion.
In the boys' room
I pull curtains
peer into bunks
tug blankes over
sleeping forms.
Long past the days
when I had to check
to make sure they
were breathing,
I still like to gaze
on their sleeping faces
press my hand to their backs
feel the rise and fall of breath.

I sip the last drops
of cold kava tea,
eat a piece of marzipan
bought and forgotten
last Christmas.
The only sound the creak
and crack of woodstove
fired up to ward off
the late April chill,
and the distant hum
of some household machinery.

I will my shoulders
to unfurl knots, my neck
to release its kinks.
I read once that busy-ness
is a choice we make
one more thing to brag about
a competitive sport
among modern adults.
I wonder, as I look down
the barrel of too-much-to-do
too-little-time how much
did I bring on myself?
How long I could sit
in the rocking chair
by the fire
with a stack of books
a hot cup of tea
a log of marzipan
bought and forgotten
last Christmas.

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