Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

25 October 2011

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:

Look for the wires within the wires,
they nestle there
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
                                or a glamour magazine--

you are hiding there,
your good and your bad,
in the den of your soul,
your lost part
'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

1 comment:

Debra She Who Seeks said...

Wonderful poem! Love it!