Good ideas never really come all at once.
Your lightbulb moment
is more like the switch on a kettle
pinging to off when the water finally comes
to a full boil.
The stillness can be mistaken for suddenness,
takes longer to steep.
They told me you were hard to puzzle out,
a riddle wrapped in a conundrum.
Like an onion, I would have to peel back the layers
to find what you really were beneath.
your smile was so open,
I walked in uninvited.
I looked up what ivy was supposed to represent,
after we called the man with the poison
to clear the wooden fence panel right to the root.
This creeping plant,
that works its way between the cracks,
and closes its fist so slowly,
that you cannot see the brickwork break,
it’s supposed to represent friendship.
I thought about you then,
how I’d failed to see how deep you’d planted yourself
until the moment that you cracked me clean in half.
Like ivy, you keep coming back
no matter the cold or the drought,
there is no prying those tendrils loose,
no poison that will make this shadow of you wither.
I must live with the damage you have caused.
I must somehow learn how not to crumble.
On days like these, I used the playhouse as a stepping stone, to clamber atop the shed and watch the sun set, heat still suffused in the metal beneath my hands. There is a part of me that still wants to creep outside as the sun smudges ocher across the sky. Cocooned in blankets, I can wait until the colours leak from the world completely, leaving only the darkness behind my eyelids as a comparison to prove that the day is not yet fully gone. Is is strange to feel like their is more breath in evenings than any other hour?
Tonight I watched the sky creep closer to night in the haze of my bedroom. Curtains pulled tight against the light while I burrow deeper beneath the blankets that offer no warmth. The cold in my bones is no fault of any sunset, but still I pray for it to hurry. To let me lose myself in shadows and sleep. My springs have frozen too hard for the evening to thaw them.
Summer moves closer
with its three step shuffle jive,
taunting me with light.
I’ve been feeling a little under the weather recently and today my voice made it known that it was on its way out. After a day of croaking at work and feeling something akin to death warmed over I came home, wrote my NaPoWriMo poem for the day and went to sleep. Now, because my body clearly hates me, I’m wide awake and feeling relatively icky again so I thought I might as well be productive. Hence the haibun. Which means I’ve been productive so I’m going to try and go back to sleep.
Oh, I’m in such a grump tonight. My apologies to everyone.