bundle of wires

( pbase )

I've been terribly busy lately, rushing around, trying to 

be with the people I care about but also trying to fulfill

the demands of my job.  Trying to live life, I guess.

I hadn't been home too much, and was beginning to feel

very frazzled.  I felt I'd begun to lose sight of the 

essential stuff that makes me me.

That happens when I'm busy.  I suspect it happens to all of us.

The other day I got home after a short trip away, tossed my 

packed stuff into their respective closets and hiding places, and went on 

with trying to sort out my life and house.  When I went to charge

my phone, I couldn't find the charger.  Looked everywhere

that it could be -- in the bookcase where I sometimes store it,

in my suitcase, in my purse, in my computer bag.  It was gone.

I knew I had taken it with me on my trip.

I remembered winding it around my hand, packing it and thinking how inconvenient

it would be if I lost it.  I decided I'd lost it, somewhere along the way.

I went to sleep, resigned to the fact that I had one more errand

to run the following errand-full day -- to the cellphone store, where I hoped

I would be able to get a charger. 

The next morning, when I woke up, wired 

to get moving, I took a shower, then

went to take out the hair dryer that I had,

only the day before,

put back into its respective cupboard, and there

tangled amid the hairdryer wires,

was my cell-phone charger.

A minor incident, but it caused me to pause

and write a poem,

a simple poem,

but a poem nonetheless.

and as soon as the words bled onto the page,

I knew the day would be alright.

Here it is:

( thisoldsailboat )

Look for the wires within the wires,

they nestle there

unawares

that they are hiding from you.  Look

for the bears

among the bears;

                  they, too, have no clue

that you

find them threatening 

                  or stealthy.

Look for yourself

               inside yourself--

             not in a book

          or in a car

            or in a bank

                   account

                                or a glamour magazine--

you are hiding there,

your good and your bad,

in the den of your soul,

your lost part

             tangled

'round other parts like it,

stored inside, hastily

.

Unravel it all.

Look closely:

every night before you sleep

take stock

of what you put away that day --

no sense in losing every

vital clue

of you

.