Gratuitous poetry, morning after

[Azabat]

Morning After Methotrexate

Six in the morning though my alarm was set for seven,

I am (contrary to all appearances) awake.

Clever crows taunt from amid the firs,

Little birds burble and squeak from under the cherry tree.

My mouth tastes of old coffee grounds,

My joints and muscles feel salted with broken glass,

So I mumble-mutter my way to a hot bath liberally scented,

With frankincense, sage and rose.

My husband snores, undisturbed, when I return,

But my cat, soft as a cherry-petal herself, greets me,

Kneads at my fingers and needs at my love,

Till most of the broken glass lies melting in the sun.

It's only the morning after,

Fresh coffee will chase the old taste away,

There's still a cherry-blossom sky outside my window,

And I am still, after it all, myself.

[Ali_H]

I love reading your poetry and this one definitely resonates with me.

Ali

[Azabat in reply to Ali_H]

Thanks, Ali. I do love to write, and sometimes finding just the right words makes something difficult into something not only bearable , but beautiful. xx

[lfu2 in reply to Azabat]

Hi Azabat, I know what you mean by loving to write. I write music, and some novels , and get an awful lot of satisfaction from doing so. Once in a while I do write something that brings a lump to my throat, and the feeling is enormous. I find that the writing takes my mind off the normal medical worries.... it had got to be good for you, whatever the finished result turns out to be.

Here's a little something I wrote about my wife...

Hey, that girl that I fell in love with years and years ago, well I saw her again today.

The mask she wears for daily living, somehow just slipped away.

And she was there again, with her happy face and laughing eyes,

And that shy lop-sided smile that says, "Love never dies."

Keep on writing.... lots of us find pleasure in it.

[Azabat in reply to lfu2]

Hi lfu2, it sounds like we have lots in common. I write music and novels as well. When I write something that brings that lump to my throat, I know that I've hit on the most real part of me, and there's nothing that matches it. Since my last brain injury, I've struggled with prose, but I'm starting to feel that it's time to try again. Thanks for the encouragement, and I love your poem. It made me smile and think of the loves in my own life.