2022-02-09T12:50:48-08:00July 26th, 2011|Musings on life, Parenthood|

The desk

The desk
is a snarl of items,

The shame
of dirty plates,
each one
a story
a decision,
together they are
a hulking body
of debris.

I am frozen
the objects
so daunting
like an orphanage
of abandoned faces.

The evening is quiet,
husband away,
baby asleep.

If only the mess
wasn’t so distracting.
How is it that lifeless
things make such
a racket?

A moment of bluster,
I yank a magazine
from the edge of the pile,
five months old,
one of those literary kind
you hope people will catch
you reading.

I open it to confirm
what I know is true;
it will not change my life,
it must go.

I feel galvanized
radiant, even.
I will conquer
the mountain.
I am clearly
on a roll.

It is late
when I close
the magazine,
tea cup empty
but still warm.

It has been so long
since I read a magazine
cover to cover.

I look at the thicket
that litters the desk.
It looks bigger
and I wait for the clench
of regret
but all I feel
is the deep satisfaction
of my small

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