38 – Much Too Tired To Dig

1/28/22

This winter, I’m learning in fullness

that writing isn’t always easy.

Words don’t always come easily.

My thoughts skim along the surface

of each day, each person, each interaction,

and my feelings are buried

at an unworkable depth

when I’m much too tired to dig.

I thought that this

was an old obstacle,

one whose enduring company

has met me on many other days,

by way of many other people,

as a result of many other interactions –

but we’re here again.

And for every moment

that the exact right utterance

flies out of me,

for every sentence strung together

painlessly, effortlessly,

there’s a moment

equal in substance

in which words arrive as I wither.

A sentence

that stings aches gnaws with every syllable.

I do believe

that words are worth the pain,

that I’m worth the pain,

that you’re worth the pain.

That the swinging pendulum

will set us all aright

despite some present-moment

motion sickness.

Trusting waiting for banking upon it.

Lightly,
Leah