To be the early riser,
rousing dutifully before light breaks the night,
face lit only by the glow of
a computer screen on the
lowest brightness setting as I
tap, tap the words I can’t
focus long enough to
find after sunrise.
The weight that
motherhood would
exert on me, the
pressure to be someone I
didn’t know how to
be and some days
still don’t.
To rise from under those
expectations and become
myself again, a person
apart from what
my children need
from me.
To sit in the interview
chair, body turned to the expectant
face of someone I’ve admired for
far longer than I’ve known
I have a story to tell.
That people I don’t
know in a town that
doesn’t belong to me would
know who I am and
care what I do and not just
because I’m full of
mischief.
To find friendship when
adulthood feels so
isolating, to be someone people
count on and who
counts on others for
help, for comfort, for
peace, for a smile.
To cradle so tenderly a
box marked on all sides in
orange stickers advertising to the world
what’s inside, opening the
passenger side door and
placing him inside for
one final ride, and to
deliver him home without so
much as a final goodbye.
Maybe it’s ego that compels me to explain this one, or maybe it’s my uncertainty that anything I write lately could possibly hold meaning for anyone but me. Whichever it is, I recorded a voiceover that explains a little about this poem and where it came from. Click the play button above to listen. Take care, friends
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This post is wonderful, Nicci. I read the poem first, which I enjoyed, and then I went back to listen to the voiceover. Such a goosepimpling combination.
I don't know much about poetry, but the 'scale', for want of a better word, of this part of the poem is terrific; because of its length I found it pulling me relentlessly towards the conclusion:
'To cradle so tenderly a
box marked on all sides in
orange stickers advertising to the world
what’s inside....'
Nicci, I am a deep reader of poetry and I've studied prosody and published one poem on short-edition.com though I don't usually write poetry. I love this poem, its lyrical lilt, its imagery and the turn at the end that I would have loved even without the explanation. Go girl!