Things are ebbing, like the tide
going out. Watching a hermit crab
hoisting shell, does it feel a stab,
guilty pain? Nope it said to me,
this is my harness. And yea, I do
approve it, you cute hermit thing.
We all need our shells, you already
know that. As you slumped down
into bed, and couldn’t get up,
literally could not, I am counting
my dresses, tops, top layers and
bottoms, necessary clothing.
For to be naked isn’t classy, not
really. Better to keep it low, quiet,
a stiff upper lip, and then do as
you please. If anyone would call out
your name, say lightly, you called?
Smile equidistantly, let out nothing.
Day 12. Truth is, we are our bodies. Sometimes it dictates to us, like for instance, last night I went to lie down, and literally could not get up. I could, I suppose, if I wanted, but my body remained down. So I did not get up to write a poem. Strangely I did not even feel guilty about it. If there’s any guilt, it’s all in my mind. Who would fault me for not writing? Not you. Not anyone in the whole wide world. But I’ve disciplined myself into writing this month, so here I am. I will write at any time I want to. In fact I will do any damn thing as I please. As I please. So while we’re into discipline, we’re not robots. There’s nothing robotic about doing things at your own pace. My sons are kind of like that. What’s the rush, mom? So what guilts you? Robert Brewer wants to know.