With babies
and toys
and dishes
strewn about
my lonely
landscape
the best help
he could offer
was to stay
out of my way
until dinner
was served, to which
being sufficiently
tender, I could
call him.
And now
awakening,
swimming
through the
mercury
of my discoveries
howling, weeping
I scramble
to find my
true self,
I find myself
scrambling
eggs for breakfast
while he waits
patiently
to be called
to the meal.
This series was written during 3 hours on a Sunday morning in June 2008, while waiting on my then partner, and cooking brunch for us with a sprained ankle. To my own amazement & delight, I no longer multitask in this manner.
