Self pity with Cat and Couch

1875 Renoir

Without a poem in weeks, what is my identity?

I’m meditating on a vast emptiness and silence

where my heart and senses used to be.  I think

I swallowed them, as my stomach turns and churns

with stress and helplessness.  Intention used to sit

satisfactorily within, but when things fall apart,

they break everywhere at once: no poems, no calm

no balm.  This cat, couch, and notebook hold me,

while my car and computer are at separate

repair shops, my mom is in the hospital, and

I’m waiting to learn what I owe for smashing

the rental on a guard rail along the route home.

 

Message: Slow down, stay in the lane, breathe, wait.

Then you’ll see your poems grow while troubles abate.

Written 18 May, 2023

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2023 Susan L. Chast