Monday is my “day off.” My husband who really does have the day off takes my daughter out for an adventure. I have no responsibilities except all the millions of responsibilities of the house which clamor and plead trying to convince me to pay them their due.
The bathroom sink is dirty. There are piles and piles. There are too many junk drawers- a source of a shame. A light bulb hangs from a cord in the ceiling it needs shelter- a cozy home. Crumbs from toast sit on a plate in the kitchen sink.
I look around. I want to throw every single thing out. I want the weightless freedom of nothing. I want to leave. I do. I walk and walk. Today I am alone. No child to teach and comfort. No stroller to push. No other adult with whom to keep pace. Only myself. Only my body. Only the city, the warm sun, the perfect spring breeze.
I go into a thrift store and buy a book. Sixty seven cents. New Selected Poems by Mark Strand. I find a café and refill my travel mug with strong coffee and cream. I sit outside on a wooden chair on a tree-lined street with brick row houses. The breeze blows. The sun shines. “Ink runs from the corners of my mouth./ There is no happiness like mine./ I have been eating poetry. (Eating Poetry 1-3)”
Today’s post was inspired by the Random Moments of Delight Writing Challenge.
Works Cited:
Strand, Mark. “Eating Poetry.” New Selected Poems. New York: Knoff, 2007. Print.
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