Many things went bump in the night, and my child – who’d gone to bed with an earache and a sore throat – whimpered occasionally. I was in and out of bed until I gave up the hope of slumber and took up my bedside copy of Anne Michaels’ poetry, The Weight of Oranges. Bad move; I wanted to gnaw at my wrists within minutes.
It occurred to me that I should cook something. With my husband away I was free to make a noise in the kitchen at 3am without fear of waking him; good wife that I am. Sinaed O’Connor’s lyrics came to mind ‘Since you been gone I can do whatever I want, I can see whomever I choose, I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant …’ and I pondered the constraints and disciplines that occur within marriage. Slightly cross at being alone, I set to making a batch of wraps.
Tandy’s ingredient challenge for the week is mushrooms, I’ve met the challenge, good friend that I am.
And the child’s lunchbox is packed, good mother that I am.
Pre-menopausal, sleep-deprived, and headachy; I’d best climb into a cupboard for the rest of the day…
The straps of my backpack cut a crevice
into my curious young and selfish shoulders,
when I was free.
My journey brought calluses from carrying
the weight of wisdom collected with greed,
until the bag was full enough
and my steps slowly searched to settle in a place
where time brought a shackle that did not chafe,
but liberated me to selflessness.
I’m drifting now at anchor,
comfortable in the chains that bind.
For now I choose not to think that ties will loosen;
and my cargo drift away…