This morning
While I was sitting here drinking coffee
In the silent stillness and stifling solitude
Of my writing space
My mind drifted lazily
Back
To when I was a young woman
And my two oldest kids were still my kids
The time of two cats in the yard
Where everything was loud and noisy
Gritty and grating at times.
I was obsessed
With cleaning up my messy life
Which was actually
A deliciously divine messy life
But I didn’t know it at the time.
You see
Back then I believed
My messy life wasn’t good
And certainly not
Interesting
Beautiful
Virtuous
Or worthy.
It didn’t fit
Into the glossy pages
Of a coffee-table magazine
I would never ever be
Wife or mother of the year
But oh how I longed
For that impossible
That implausible
That unattainable
Distinction.
I thought
So foolishly
It’s laughable now
That this messiness was a problem
This glorious domestic chaos
And magnificent uproarious thunder
Racket and tumult
This callow tender tackiness
Of everyday life
Was something to be fixed.
