I have mourned lost days
When I accomplished nothing of importance.
But not lately.
Lately under the lunar tide
Of a woman’s ocean, I work
My own sea-change:
Turning grains of sand to human eyes.
I daydream after breakfast
While the spirit of egg and toast
Knits together a length of bone
As fine as a wheatstalk.
Later, as I postpone weeding the garden
I will make two hands
That may tend a hundred gardens.
I need ten full moons exactly
For keeping the animal promise.
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but
By the most ordinary miracle.
I am nothing in this world beyond the things one woman does.
But here are eyes that once were pearls.
And here is a second chance where there was none.
Oh, how “two” is testing my patience. There’s a new job in the works and an old one to leave gracefully. There is a baby bubbling in my belly and the days are shorter all of the time. I’m doing what I’m calling a “half-nano” (writing 25,000 words this month, as opposed to the official NaNoWriMo 50k), plugging along successfully at least so far. It’s sort of a novel. Sort of an HD/Thomas Wolfe fictionalized memoir, mothering and marriage and the ocean. If nothing else, it’s exorcising some demons. Maybe just exercising them. Taking them for a run around the park. Reading more in the process, books stacked up and tucked away all over the house, books with bookmarks the little boy loves to emancipate from their cells. Reading about writing and art, about the sea. Rereading the novels that are the dearest friends.
And, as usual, a little boy is calling. Time to go out, catch the last of the dusk.