NO REGRETS

My waking thoughts
turn
from what to cook
to wasted time,
to withered dreams;
a book, a play, a legacy.
A rustle; there
across the corridor,
the child has woken.
I pack my introspection
away,
and go to boil the milk.

©Cindy Taylor 2009

When I was fifteen, I wanted to be a man of few words, to be small and muscular with fine bones, to play slide guitar like Elmor James. I wanted to be fearless. I am thirty seven. The page is white and cool to touch. My hands smell of lemons. I still cling to impossible wishes. There is still time.

MICHAEL IGNATIEFF
AUGUST IN MY FATHER’S HOUSE.

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5 thoughts on “NO REGRETS

  1. Very well put !
    Ah, the distractions… that magically transform into the main task at hand … poof! And someone somewhere says ‘Welcome to reality’ 🙂

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