The Discovery Of Music

A habit became a rhythm. The rhythm got groovy. We practiced that groove until it could move :

the static and clutter of too busy days

unfinished should-have shamings

mountains of guilt that took generations to build

{That groove got heavy and that groove got deep that groove got shiny and smooth and sweet}

That groove got heavy and that groove got deep that groove got shiny and smooth and sweet

We rode it past:

our same mistakes,

the forest of our selfishness,

doors that turned out to be walls all along.

until we were floating

our albatross untied

The grace of morning still inside.

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SundaysJes Raymond
A Morning With e.e. cummings

The kitchen is tidy

The baby is nursing

Supper started in the slow cooker my sister gave me

I practice banjo in my head (to the beat of the laundry spinning in the dryer)

and I try, I try, I try

to not just think or know or believe

but like the teacher says-

I try to feel

this moment 

this poem

this feather light happiness

before it melts into 

the sea of days I don’t remember

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