You find on occasion
near trash cans at bus stops
and on checkered floors in restrooms:
stray metal crescents that have escaped
the confines of a brassiere.
How fares the breast now unsupported?
Will it dribble down the torso
like fat sweet drips on an ice cream cone?
Or will the mesmerizing orb
girded by years of upward thrusting
fulfill it's elastic destiny
and cling with gravity defying delight
to the upper third of the chest?
And how do these bands spring to freedom?
One day with an anarchists cry
do they hack through seams
with a mighty push and pop
break loose. Jabbing a pit
in retaliation for years spent toiling
in sweaty servitude?
Or is it something less exotic?
Too much laundering.
The slow demise of a workhorse.
Are these flat silver slivers merely
evidence of a woman's strength expended?
So... a lot of you ladies know me as a crafter, but before that my main hobby has always been writing. I've finished several novels, wrote a glut of bad poems and my articles have graced the pages of Family Fun magazine and several international homeschool publications. Why am I bringing this up? Because I really don't write as much as I used to. When I ran rateyourwriting.com there was always writing, editing and reviewing to do. Spare moments were filled with words. But writing is a hard thing to do in snips and bits. I need time - full hours even - to get back into the swing of it. Crafts can be made while talking my kids through their lessons, gabbing on the phone - glue dries while dishes are being done. It's a whole different set of requirements. I'm a creative person and as long as my need for expression is met, I don't really care if it's through writing, scrapbooking or stool making.
Still, it would be nice to get back to being a person so inspired by the everyday that I have to write about it.