okay, I lied

Maybe I write a little poetry now and then. Especially now, somehow it seems to help. (Again, disclaimer: too many years of people telling me what I did was "dumb" and "bad," and too many years of journal-article rejections or "resubmit with revisions" have seriously damaged my ability to perceive whether my writing is good or bad. If this is bad, I apologize; it's as much for my own emotional processing as anything.) And yes, that last line rankles; "chew toy" seems so flip but it is also kind of how I feel of late.

(We voted on the minister's resignation last night. It was more congenial than I feared it would be. Sad, but at least no one was angry and at least no one called for "Well, let's just forget the 60 day separation period and tell him to get lost now")

Maybe if I can't talk about knitting or life, I can occasionally drop a poem here for the next few weeks or so.

On Moving Forward

Bent, but not broken.

Angry, but not full of rage.

Sad but not despairing,

The growth happens offstage.

A fallow time, a lean time,

A time of drawing in.

A time of trying to imagine

What new might begin.

Looking for hope in the wasteland,

Turning back to Job’s old story

Is there some meaning here,

Or are these losses not allegory?

Unsure whether to trust again

Unsure whether to care

Unsure if there will be happiness

In whatever future is there.

And yet, what choice is there?

Life goes ever on.

Time to make some new dreams;

Dreams of youth are gone.

And yet, obligation carries me forward.

Perhaps some time there will be joy;

There will come a time again

When I am not the Universe’s chew toy.