we bonded over both wanting to be mothers
perhaps it is a silly thing given we are not yet mothers
will not be for sometime, may never become them
this morning I cut roots for my tea
orange and yellow, earthy
it soothes me to think there is something I can do to help myself
I wonder why there were no masters programs for writing or art
why we continue to undervalue such things
why we perpetuate the idea that they are not successful by not giving them money
flicking on the stove for the tea to boil
thinking there may be a time when I no longer write words to music
let them spill out with only their own sounds to defend them
Do you think the band ending means the end of music for you? Claudia asked in the park
You said No immediately, but what meant you meant was: kind of, maybe.
this morning, reaching for a pen,
feeling the old familiar feeling
a poem growing inside of me,
like a child.
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