I have been cracking the proverbial whip as I have been invited to contribute paintings to an upcoming exhibit at the yoga center where I teach. When I accepted the invitation, it seemed like summer was a long stretch of road I could meander through with plenty of time to noodle about and paint. Now I have just 2 weeks in which to complete 4 pieces in various states of incompletion.
And all I want to do is nap, drink mint ice tea and read novels. And poetry. In preparation for the ecourse Poem It Out, I've returned to a daily writing practice. Hence all the poem-y bits floating about this space in recent weeks.
Thinking about the heat, my general ennui, and the texture of my life these days, I wanted to put down how these summer days feel to me. Moose dog is not a fan of this weather either, so our morning walks have been the only respite from our otherwise heat-induced comas. So Moose, this poem's for you.
I had planned on waking early
giving myself time to notice the textures and sounds of my morning,
to place myself within this day.
but instead I hit the snooze
unable to disentangle from a dream where
I was painting - my hands running across the surface of the board
smoothing and spreading color and paint –
clutter of bags and brushes and books and notes
blocking me from moving forward in the dream and into my morning.
I feel the heaviness of the weather,
of emotions stooping my shoulders
filling my heart
while thoughts crowd my head.
before stumbling downstairs I check in and see
my girl adrift in her own shadowy world of dragons and Scooby Doo
a starfish beached upon tumbled sheets.
I head out into the sprinkler-saturated morning
camera in one hand, leash in the other
attempting to capture something of this day
to string together the moments that will guide me
out of my fog and into spacious being.
i will try