Cinnamon toast and Earl Grey tea, a dash
of sugar and milk. Comfort for a cold, rainy Friday in spring.
I look out the window, all is green even the sky.
A mirror of the trees and lawn. Where did the sunshine go? Taking with it my smile.
My contentment is fleeting. The rhubarb and tomatoes
planted yesterday relishing the rain but like me needing the sun.
My sleepy kitten Jaz
won’t stop laying on my writing arm. Why did she choose today
to sit with me, to pull me down? So, as if unable to resist
I trudge upstairs,
still in my scarf and jacket from rainy rides to school, pajamas
covered in peace symbols. I don’t even take off the nine-year old’s sandals as I snuggle deep
in the down covers. Taking Jaz with me we have the illicit nap. Everything feels forbidden
today, sometimes I forget I am grown. I don’t have to feel guilty all the time.
But conscience says I must get something done.
Fridays are for cleaning, so that Everyone
is happy on the weekend. While I scurry around, picking up again to keep it nice;
where children oblivious drop the towel, socks, paper and pen. A water-glass, plastic soldiers, LEGO, whatever, as they tire of it.
Cinnamon toast and earl gray tea, guilty pleasures
on a rainy friday afternoon as my soul searches
and reality catches up with me, again.