Picking up sticks like bones in a pile

September 23, 2010

Picking up sticks like bones in a pile

Remember the game “Pick Up Sticks” from decades ago? The sticks fall where they may and you have to remove one at a time without disturbing the rest of the pile…

…my life is like that.

One stick is the unswept kitchen floor at night and another is the diaper bag that needs organizing. One is the pile of laundry to be hung in the closet and another is the closet itself. One is my teeth that haven’t tasted whitening mint today and another is the still-unpacked boxes lining the hallway. One bright one balancing on the top is my son. Another slightly worn one lying crookedly on the bottom is myself. Each stick sits precariously on top of another and I’m learning how to not topple the pile. How to not lose points, or my sanity, or any more tiny blue socks.

I’ve lost words, however. Each stick scratches words from my tongue and fingers and I’m left staring idly at the blank page. I want it filled – poetically, if you please. But I’m stretched for time and order, and the drafts of ideas pile up like sticks. Waiting to be plucked, should I find the courage or will or proper handling tool.

(It’s late and the baby wakes up again. I feel the bone-sticks in my skin splinter a little at the sound…why won’t he sleep? I don’t understand; he didn’t get that from me…)

With the air cooling and the leaves falling and the world settling into itself a bit more (no more brazen summer: girls with skin and boys with eyes), there could be words here again. Please God, let there be sleep and words and a steady pile of days that don’t topple over. I have enough messes to clean…

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