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In the morning darkness I lay cuddled up beside my husband. The words of a new poem bubbled through my mind, rising, popping, floating together with growing cohesion. The 6:30 alarm rang and instantly my daughter appeared, so proud to have wakened to her very own alarm clock. I snatched the bedside pad and pen, making for the refuge of the bathroom to capture such words as were left after she pounced upon us for snuggles, and yelled for her brothers to wake up, in a voice like an air raid siren. I emerged, prepared to tuck in and reconnect the frayed threads of thought in the tiny buffer before 7:00 movement began. “Gotta go early,” announced hubby, bouncing out on his side of the bed manfully. “Early class today – gotta go, quick!” shouted Joe College, pounding up the stairs two at a time.
A Poem is Threatened by Interference
As I raced to make the promised breakfasts and lunches at breakneck speed, I hollered for assistance to a son who wasn’t busy yelling, “Which car can I take? Mine’s out of gas and I don’t have time to stop?” Other voices collided with his: “What’s for dinner tonight?”, “Where are my keys?”, “Who took every single sock I own?” I might have answered, but into the middle of the growing pandemonium descended the other daughter who, hearing talk of vehicles, weighed in with, “Wait! I’ve got to have a car all day! What am I supposed to do? Don’t leave! Wait!” I became confused about who was asking what, and so ignored it all to focus on feeding the departing troops. “Why doesn’t anyone in this family put shoes where they belong?”, “Where are my car keys?”, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”, “Who left all this stuff in the middle of the floor?”, “Who broke my Lego castle?”, “What time was that appointment?”, “WHERE are my car keys, I’ve GOT TO GO?!?!”
A Poem is Temporarily Forgotten
Throwing omelets, tortillas, bagged nuts and crackers and trail mix and cheese and salad and cold cuts around like a short order cook in a busy diner, I was called to attention by the insistent steam of the tea kettle. I gave orders for pouring and steeping, threw a foil-wrapped breakfast burrito in one direction, a plate of eggs and a bagged lunch in another, nearly tripped over the dog announcing his hunger to the One Who Orders Food to Appear, and, finally, sat down for a scrambled egg and tea. The storm of the next round of breakfasts for the staying-home crowd broke around me with the typical bickering and banter, dish and door slamming, and everyone, as usual, trying to make someone else heed my plea, “Will someone feed this dog so he’ll stop jumping on me?!?!?”
A Poem is Left to Heavenly Dispensation
Blessing my food, I stopped to pray for heavenly assistance. Calm, cold eggs, hot tea, day moving on into its normal pattern….how did that poem go again? I peered through mental fog trying to see the words. Oh, yes…something about a wedding blessing…may your days be rich, your tribe increase…I’ve forgotten most of it. I’ll come back to me.