Simplicity.

So I'm riding down the road the other day, on my way to the hospital, and thinking about the things they do for Nova. One of those things is respiratory therapy - they call it Chest PTs - they use this little rubbery mallet thing to pound on his back to loosen the secretions in his lungs, then suction them out.

My mind being what it is (mostly useless, mostly mush) I had this mental image.

Rising

I need to slap the mud.

Remember mud pies?
The way you'd fill some random pot
or pail with slop, just so,
then pat the top and watch
the water rise and pool on top?

I was always fascinated by
how the clean would separate
from the dirty and wash away
the lumps from between my fingers.

For hours, time seeped by
like it only can for a child
unaware of how each moment passes
or how soon they may tongue
their final mouthful of gourmet grit.

Yes, I need to slap the mud.

This is exactly how it is written on the back of a bank envelope, lol. I haven't edited or revised at all. Actually, I jotted it down in a frenzy and slid it into the pocket of my pump bag and haven't looked at it again until just now. It definitely needs work, and now that I've had to write it out again, and know that you're all reading it, I'll have to work on it today. ;)

Haha, you guys just never knew how much you did for me did you? My ears, my shoulders, my crutches, my unwitting critics, and my motivation.

Poetry