Thursday, August 13, 2009

Every morning now
she is awakened by words.

where have they all come from?
what do they want from her?

some stand patiently
at her bedside
waiting till sunrise

others tug and pull and refuse
to let her rest soundly any more.

Its not unfamiliar
she has been through this
with her children
at a time when her sleep
had a staccato mark above it

So she rises
greets them all with a slightly battered smile
and listens to what they need to tell her.

some are on their own...
"intoxicated", "humility", "passion"

some come in twos...
"French Toast" and "Happy Birthday"

and others already have their little cliques...
"Authentic, creative expression and communication"

she holds them
cuddles them
nurses them
wraps them in coloured quilts
and tries to rock them gently back to sleep

but they won't sleep

They follow her around the house
begging to be drawn.

so she asks them to
form a line,
a phrase,
an analogy
whatever they like
and she sets up her easel.

Each letter poses patiently
and then moves aside for the next

this is a a pattern she is very accustomed to

and she feels exhilarated because
she is drawing again.

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