11.30.2011

Welcome Home Wednesday.

   
Coming home after having run away from it for a month is a good-news, bad-news situation . . .





On the one hand, you get to see the people you missed, and the dog seems genuine in his enthusiasm.  On the other hand, your houseplants may have given up on you ever coming back, and the vacuum cleaner probably failed to run itself in your absence --

Which makes me wonder, 
am I the only one who sees this stuff?  
And can I somehow learn to not see it, like everyone else?
  



(If anyone is keeping track, Mark Trail is still on the same story line as when I left.  True story.  Which can only make me think that either I wasn't gone long enough, or time actually stands still in Lost Forest. Maybe both.)




When you've done nothing but think selfish thoughts, soak in the sunshine and hang out with your parents for a month while they treat you to lunches and afternoon matinees, the re-entry can feel a bit like a cold November slap in your greedy/lazy face.








Even if you readily admit 
you deserved the slap, 
it still stings . . . 



So if you, who diligently stayed home working and acting like a grown-up, have your Christmas tree decorated, lovely lights on your house, your packages mailed, AND all your work done for your February show, please keep it to yourself.  A smug smile will suffice -- no need to raise hands.  But please bear with me while I try to catch up. And I will endeavor to do so with minimal complaint.






Perhaps because my mind 
has had nothing but endless freedom
to wander, I've been thinking writing thoughts, and they seem to have continued across Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, and southern Minnesota -- the word tap continues to drip.











So while I sort mail, 
here's some writing for your Wednesday . . .


























Loveseat

I cannot be everywhere
heart in one place, my head
in another entirely
body parts scattered, working
across worries, states, time
all of me wanting to just sit
with you, hold your hands
bodies touching, barely space
for both, but we fit
share one breath for a beat
trace the line of your life
my fingertip on your palm
and in that spot, that moment
find my pieces put together

-- smh



The lovely photo prompt comes courtesy of  Magpie Tales.
Follow the link to enjoy more.


And how could I not write about a couch when all I want to do is sit on mine?  Well, move it out into the sunshine and then sit on it.  Somewhere else.   
Like Hawaii, or Mexico or something...


Now there's that pesky laundry buzzing again,
and just when I get a daydream going . . . Geez!




Okay, I hear you. 

I'm growing 
-- er, I mean coming --
right up.









  

9 comments:

Allie said...

Boy talk about a COLD reality....hope you adjust soon, Susan, no smug smile here, I'm clutching my laptop because it's putting out a gentle warm heat, lol. Soon I'll have to get up and put on another layer, maybe two, so I get a hot flash and dream that I'm in the southern Pacific. My house has no Christmas atmosphere at all, although it might be cold enough to snow in my living room. Time to turn the heat up....love your Magpie!

Leenie said...

Nobody deserves that November slap...or slowly tightening icy choke-hold on the mind, the sinuses and and toes and fingers. If it makes you feel any better, although I've been home, mostly, there are no preparations for the avalanche of Christmas here. At least almost none.

Your poetic ability has done well with the vacation. "Loveseat" says so much in those few lines.

Best wishes on achieving all you must to be prepared for that big show.

luanne said...

Welcome home!

Hope your getaway was what you needed, even if now you're back to an unvacuumed house -- further proof that you might as well always choose the fun stuff, because the housework ain't going anywhere!

Your poetry skills seem sharper than ever. How do you do that?

No Christmas decorations at my house yet. Maybe this year I'll wire all the ornaments to the fake tree, so I can just throw a dustcover over it for future years.

Arnab Majumdar said...

Growing up should be optional in my opinion :)

Loved the poem.

Cheers...

Mimi Foxmorton said...

Nice! :)

Jinksy said...

I hope your pieces are put together now, on or off a red couch! ♥

Strummed Words said...

Lovely poem.

HyperCRYPTICal said...

A lovely poem indeed, just lovely!

Anna :o]

zongrik said...

nice point of view piece, where the sofa is looking for its missing parts

Blog Widget by LinkWithin