Ending the Day

File:Rabindranath Tagore Woman Face.jpg

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Sometimes I forget to end the day,

to draw the covers of the night up

to where my open mouth breathes in

the whisper of an idea.

Remember how rare an idea is?

How like a tea kettle, it doesn’t

boil while you stand yearning,

your hand wrapped around mug and strainer.

Like a butterfly, the idea flirts around

just as I want to sleep. Should I breathe

quietly and wait for the idea

to boil, wait for it to bloom? or

Should I quickly sit up and capture

it while still in seed and unformed?

Pen and notebook call to me from

my bedside table, waiting to be used.

Sometimes I can be a notebook, too,

recording what comes to me, waiting

to know, yearning to hear, praying to

stay awake as the whisper shapes me.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2022 Susan L. Chast