Respite

The storm is over
but I hate the calm.
The word "respite" is
an oxymoron in itself.
I think I shall go back to
playing camp songs periodically
and crying over them;
eating much bean and cheese dip
on chips late at night;
wearing black more often than not;
reading obstetric texts and
dreaming of babies coming out
for the gratis naked family portrait;
watching movies late into the evening
while cross-stitching, cross-legged,
like one of Santa's crazed elves.
Maybe I'll even read to my kids,
play ball with them
tell them I love them;
Clean my house with a frenzy
to reaffirm my independence.
Time over memory, baby.

PamEhli/1998


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