2024-01-04

poetry/w/wip.txt

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+WIP
+2020-12-09
+
+***
+
+Many a project
+has sat in disused corners of
+my laptop in neglect
+over these six past years.
+A spark of inspiration,
+a candle's fire,
+quickly muted once I yet again tire
+of coating these hands with clay.
+No oxygen, no respiration.
+Who has time to waste
+their life in work?
+I just want to play.
+
+It pains me to think
+that more than a decade ago,
+after had melted the snow,
+my family and I would regularly
+hop state lines
+to visit aging grat-grandmothers
+to make sure they were fine.
+
+But one by one they dropped like flies,
+and the farms were sold
+to repay debts passed down
+to us by old farts
+who spent themselves into a tizzy
+buying things to try to buy our hearts.
+I didn't need luxury. I needed love,
+and I sure wasn't going to receive
+any from a man whose face,
+whose voice,
+was always grumpy and mean.
+
+I remember that half-finished home,
+the exposed framing upstairs where
+Family Sarah and I would roam,
+trying not to tear our skin
+on pink insulation.
+Was it full of shards of glass,
+or was it not?
+We sure did debate about it a lot.
+
+A dear second-cousin
+(or something close)
+worked hard to finish
+her homework early
+so we would have time plenty
+to play.
+
+And now, on what
+was then an impossible day,
+I find myself reciprocating,
+working myself into a pale clam
+to complete my own exams
+so my brother and I
+have our own free time.
+
+Maybe it is not yet
+time for me to leave
+this nest and fly,
+but I can help him to achieve
+a little bit of freedom.
+I have to give it an honest try.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander