For Monday

Memory’s Daughter

Thought-bees sting me, continually.
Not honey bees, these barbs don’t stick,
They prick and flee, leaving me
In confused conundrums of
lost dates
missed mates
worried waits:
What have I forgotten now?

There’s too much to remember, and
Worry replaces mnemonic acuity.
I am the intersection;
Everyone’s path crossing mine,
Dropping clutter behind,
Leaving thoughts to divine, until,
In their time, I become
Simply the asterisk
Footnoting their lives.

Oh, I’m there, always, somewhere,
Lost in the glare of their own
Self-importance; what baleful
Portents will bring me out of
This Lethean blankness?
I want honesty, frankness,
Out loud and in your face,
I want my place, not erased or forgotten.

I’m remembering now,
Remembering how I went down to the depths,
And emerged as myself, dripping,
Slippery with passion, shining and hot
With the strength of my own inspiration.
Taking stance at my station,
Firm and wide-footed, rooted deep
In the history, wrapped in the mystery
Of all I have lived; seizing my moment
Not retreating, receding, but grasping
The whole of the world in my heart.


2 thoughts on “For Monday

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