Down the avenues
of my early-morning
mind zooms a flood
of crowded, honking
thoughts that seek
a place to park.
I’m too tired
to direct traffic,
too stressed
to sort them out.
That must wait
till later, tongue
losing its taste
of suede, on the
verge of talk.
But then they’re
gone, not a thought
in sight, not a word
remaining of that
early-morning roar,
so here I sit,
listening, waiting
for the next wave.
Perhaps tomorrow.
© 1999
(originally published in Capper's)
I don't think I was intended to be a morning person. Mornings have always been a struggle for me.
I know, I know. Morning is the best part of the day for the writer. Other concerns have not begun to intrude. The house is quiet. The brain is rested, ready to rev. Here's a whole new day beckoning.
But for me it's ... well, it's just morning. It takes me a little while to build some momentum.
I roll over, get one foot on the floor, then the other. I stand. I go teetering off in the general direction of the keyboard. I find the switch, flick it on.
By this time I have both eyes open. Things are starting to come into focus. And then, look out. Oh, look out! I'm starting to roll.
1 comment:
I'm not a morning person, either. When I post in the early morning hours, it's because I haven't yet been to bed. I love the night. I have to hand it to you--I can't write just after I get up. Maybe my mind IS uncluttered, but my mind feels bad in the morning. Numb almost. There's this buzzing like the sound of electrical wires. My husband thinks I look comical in the morning. (He is a morning person). Just as he's winding down, I'm gearing up and vice versa. When I've finished my "requirements" for the day, I get energized and as darkness enfolds my world, my imagination comes alive. What is more beaugiful than a fire at night--to go back to your earlier poem? You do a wonderful job in this poem of showing the difficulty of reaching into the spirit-world of our imagination, of finding that quiet "place to park."
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