Thursday, May 21, 2015

Some Thoughts I Jotted Down a Few Weeks Ago

one hundred
all over the floor
little feet stepping
each time breaking
each flake into
a hundred new flakes.

I sigh
I bend down
and I begin
picking up each one
by hand.

It would be easier
of course
of course
of course
to use a vacuum or even the broom
of course
I don’t think of that
until the job is done
of course.

but the job is never done
and there are
puzzles and books
and papers and crayons
and dolls and trucks and
bits and pieces of a life
in the middle of living.

if archaeologists dug our
house out of the rubble
of time
frozen exactly as it is now
they would know
just how we lived
and what we wore
and what we ate
but they would not hear
your laughter,
your little voices calling,
your feet padding down the hall
en route to new adventures.

they would not see
that spark in your eye
of creativity as you make a paper towel roll into a telescope
of discovery as you learn you can hop on one foot
of understanding as you read your favorite book on your own for the first time.

They would not see it and
yet it is priceless to me
more precious than any
neanderthal man
dinosaur bone
pharoahs tomb.

and even as I clean it all up
this mess, your mess, my mess, our mess,
the chaos of our lives
as we live them
is priceless and precious to me.

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