Standing in the Dark

I shared my daughter's writing with you. Can I share a bit of my own too? I suppose that's what a blog is, after all, a place to share one's writing, but I typically tell you stories rather than post scribblings. But this year I've enjoyed dropping in to an occasional writer's group in Portland and am finally getting brave enough to share a thing or two that emerged from my work there. This short piece came from the prompt, "Imagine you are standing in the dark." Maybe in the middle of your Christmas chaos, you can relate.

Why do I always leave the entry-way light until last?

I turn in the safety of the vinyl patch by the door,

working to recall the placement of each forgotten toy

The dollhouses dragged out for a city—here

the game—over there—too elaborate to bear demolition

And not just toys clutter the floor

There's the laundry,

piled high,

      pawed over,

            spilling out

                            here

Library books read, skimmed, ignored—ah—there

I step

They say it goes by so fast

Step

They say to cherish every moment

Step

They say to let the mess go

Step

I don't think they've seen this mess

Step

And again

Two more and…

Safe

I slide in under straightened sheets

the only straight thing, sometimes,

feel my good man breathe.

Safe