Not Today

There must be some peace in here somewhere, somewhere 

between this shallow breath

and the next, somewhere beneath this thick layer of thought

chasing thought. It seems I should have my shit together by now, that 42 years should

be long enough to learn how to tame this carnivorous mind of mine

but thinking this just makes me more anxious.

Today it feels like too much--this house that seems to need scrubbing, plans that seem

to need to be made, the dentist office trapping me into keeping the appointment that I really,

really don't want to go to--not today.  The heavy weight of Oregon gray.  It seems there is not enough of me 

to go around--not enough of me to be the kind of mother/wife/sister/friend/aunt/creator I want to be, not enough time

to feed this me that can't seem to breathe unless she creates.  I'm tired of being tired

tired of editing out the not-pretty, tired of backspacing/deleting, tired

of feeling anchored to overwhelm, tired of trying not to be too this or too that, tired 

of feeling strangled by these thoughts, these stories, this infinite number of choices, this feeling that there is something

I must do.  I reach for the bracelet, the one she wore when her body 

was still here 

and caress it like it can somehow save me

and I feel just a hint of it 

whispering 

its way through thick and heavy

repeating over and over again the words that young poet spoke

with such sacred, power-filled conviction

Poet, breathe now 

and I pause

and do the one thing that quiets

all the rest, the only thing that might lift

the heavy 

the one word I might have to tattoo on this body 

this body that is still here

I

breathe