why not disappear into a chrysallis for a bit,
relaxing from the hairline down across the eyes
the frown lines from the chin can smooth, even the belly button
becomes a little less pinched, each cell of your body
settling against a hard shell of relaxation, each quad relaxing
into its IT band and finally settling into its ankle, your toes
finally encased in your personally constructed chrysallis of
full relaxation, where a caterpillar reorganizes into a butterfly
imagine what could happen to you.
image from various pictures from http://www.entomopixel.com/
one sock was stuck under a shoe in the downstairs closet,
the mate was waiting to be found upstairs in a basket;
their separation was long enough that the upstairs sock faded
away in the sun while the downstairs sock stayed vividly alert
sitting next to a baited mouse trap all those months of waiting.
I'd rather bask in a woven bed of reeds from India in the sun
than in the darkness waiting for a mouse to approach, holding my
threads tightly so to appear impregnable to small teeth.
Eventually we were found and reunited, our cuffs stretched
around each other and tossed into a drawer, knowing that our
differences will be unnoticed in the morning fog of dressing,
she's too preoccupied to care about matching colors.
they creep out from behind their covalently bonded brethren,
skinny and breathless, and skip up towards vacuum, pausing for a
moment only to make a quick move so as to escape detection.
a ping and they're gone into the depths of space and I missed them,
looking behind a large mirrored surface to see if they were still there.
they only partially follow their equations, and only when they want;
if it's raining in Houston and an anomymous man in Mission Control
reaches into his desk drawer for a certain fountain pen, they seem to take
that as license to slither on out and disappear,
oh molecules, so difficult to model.
every day it's another thing, a commitment, five
minutes here, another ten there, a couple minutes, an
hour, a few seconds, a recipe, a meeting, a flute lesson,
a recital, dead lifts.
my brain wants to stop, my body wants to lie down,
I want the clock to stop and for no wonderful opportunities
to come my way, no new friends, no time for
learning, no new languages, nothing, not
another chance to meditate or improve my life,
I'll pass on intimate conversation, an empty suitcase,
no time for a daughter or son, plans for celebrations,
just emptiness, boredom would be welcome,
I'm overbooked on life, such a wonderful life
it is, but overbooked.
a baby boy in my arms, a degree in hand,
and he'll have a degree in his hand, a sweetheart by his side.
we repeat, only better, my mother had her degree in her hands
at thirty nine, we move faster in this new generation, and our faces
show the fatigue, he looked so tired tonight.
we all finished our chocolate cake and drifted off our chairs
28, a good year to have done so much,
56, double the fun.
the crunching of a rat's teeth on some
next to the bed
please tell me it ain't so
oh no, how many tons of concrete,
so many dollars, to many hours to seal
our house against wood rats and oh no!
we so don't need to wake up
to the gnawing of teeth