“Like dragging a sadness uphill” is the line on my mind
when I wake a full hour earlier than usual.
I’m not sure I want to chase it down
– see where it came from or where it leads –
but I’ve set myself a challenge.
makes me jump up and shut the sunroom windows
to within an inch of sill
to prevent an absolute pour-in.
Afterwards, drops of water cling to the screens,
obscuring our view onto the garden
we’ve surrounded ourselves with,
one plant at a time,
cushions against hard thoughts.
We sit cocooned, reading,
appearance of peacefulness,
me not mentioning again the voicemail I received,
nor the closing line,
“Hope she’s letting you see those grandchildren more,”
nor how I returned the call right away
just to keep her from leaving a similar message in coming days.
She meant well,
but I wasn’t prepared to have it brought up like that,
not at 3:30 on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday,
not when I’ve carefully controlled
the height of the window
so I’m present to the rain
but not washed away by it.
Now beads of thought
cling to the screen I’ve set in place.
I read the same paragraph over and over
reminded of just how long
I’ve been dragging a sadness uphill.
* * *
For writers: Thoughts about the difficulty I had in sharing this particular poem appear HERE.