Every writer I know has trouble writing. — Joseph Heller
i missed tuesday. well, i lived it, but i didn’t write. i missed another day. that happens a lot..since having kids. i get lost in the day to day and my writing gets pushed aside. i can’t let that happen any longer.
it’s after midnight. i’m listening to the rain. feeling melancholy. thinking about so many things that i can’t fit into a day. so many things on my to do list that roll over into another day, making that list longer.
currently i’m struggling with myself. i am reading over old poems with the notion to send some out for publication. but in reading them a great deal of emotion is being stirred up. causing, i don’t want to call it a writer’s block, no, i’ll just call it resistance.
so here is one that i have been wrestling with…
quickly and without warning
we become incomplete.
We vest ourselves in things
collected, dusty on shelves.
Bound to moments and items,
lifetimes of unappreciated loss —
some oddly shaped keys,
an earring that silently slipped away,
the wallet that took a piece of your life,
a well-worn leather glove forgotten…
We lose things everyday,
or they leave us, wondering,
longing for their return.
As I long for summer’s humid embrace
or your warm breath on my neck. Naked,
November’s wind, bitter and unforgiving,
my hand exposed as I stand
ambushed by the weather and your decision
I am now the unpaired glove,
“What is it about us human beings that we can’t let go of lost things?”
~ Leslie Marmon Silko, from The Turquoise Ledge
Tell me your thoughts about lost things, lost loves, lost time, lost days, loss…