on the ten count


Two plus two is… dammit.  What is two plus two? Come on!  You know the answer to this.

Music.  It’s music.  Two, Four, Six, Eight…  Who do we appreciate?! Cheerleading?

Eggs.  Why on earth did they scramble eleven eggs and leave one?  Why?  I should scramble it, give them each a fork and walk out of the kitchen.

I hate the smell of eggs.  Reminds me of the hospital, and those weren’t even real eggs.

How many more days can I pretend I don’t have piles of work to do?  Feigning sickness only lasts so long.  Why is the flu acceptable but not sadness?

It’s fifty degrees in here. Why is the air conditioner so loud? I can’t feel my hands. Perfect actually.

It’s a spaceship.  We’re on a spaceship.  I don’t feel the strings but they’re there aren’t they?

Close my eyes.  Sleep.  Open my eyes. Sweat. Heart racing. Killing people. Again.  Silent and peaceful. The Rage.

Gentle fingertips caress my face.  I turn and stare into my daughter’s eyes.

Smiling she whispers, “You rise me Mom”.  I stare confused at the expression of peace on her face, ask her to repeat herself and to tell me what she means.

She answers, “You make my morning”.

My eyes water.  I was cuddled up with live poetry.

Reasons to keep counting.
To Ten.

Categories: Healing, QuartetTags: , , , , , ,

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