Fragments

It’s been a long day. Traffic passes my house: cars, people walking, people riding bikes, people pushing babies, walking dogs after dinner, before bed. The temperature is almost 90 degress, still, even in this late moment. The sun is retreating over the river. The pelicans fly north for nesting. Today, I wanted a poem to appear in my notebook. I know what it takes: time, quiet, a willingness to begin somewhere.

I began by reading a menu, studying the new items. I began by drinking the cold water, taking off my shoes. I began by unpinning my hair, letting it fall to my shoulders. I wiped the sweat from above my upper lip. I closed my eyes for a minute and thought about Emily and Eavan and Mariam who reminded me why we write poems. I didn’t return phone calls. I tried not to think about the people who came in my office today or yesterday, what I could have said differently to be more helpful. I tried not to think about the tears cried or time lost waiting. I avoided my unmade bed, dishes in the sink, the lack of groceries. I sang to myself in rememberance of the sunrise, my notebook stored all day in my satchel, my  blue pen in my pocketbook. I began by placing my notebook over the bank statement, moving the random pens, the brochure for the retreat, unopened bills.  I wrote occupy, inhabit, live, homebase and of ,between, in. One line followed another as I lost light and moved into the dark.