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.
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
