2011-10-10T21:59:45-07:00October 10th, 2011|Musings on life, Parenthood|

Nothing in front of me but my hands

It’s early and raining
they are bundled
my husband and son
on an adventure
they promise to bring home treasures
bright leaves
unidentifiable pieces
of plastic.

The house is oddly still
as though it isn’t us that runs around it
but it that spins
around us.

I am loosely aware
of a phone ringing
like a bird call
or a shout from someone in the park
it doesn’t occur to me
to answer it.

Half an hour passes
maybe more
tireless fade of time
I remain at the dining room table
nothing in front of me
but my hands.

I had fervent plans
a window of efficiency
finish the spreadsheet
burn that disk of photos
make soup.

But I didn’t anticipate
the sweetness of feeling my belly
soften and grow with each breath
the quiet tingle
of my tongue.

I’d forgotten
how seductive
it is
to be idle.

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