Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

Mostly Minutiae No. 17


It is late and the page is blank, but
my mind is far from blank. It is just
that I can’t write about it.

If I think about it, my thoughts turn
dark. I don’t want to go there
anymore. It will end soon.

Better that I write about coffee.
Saturday. We had Joe. Mild,
milky, and sweet for me. A cup
of coffee shouldn’t sound sexual,
but it has been a raw week and
a raw day. I’m feeling raw.

Probably the EMDR. I had a sense
of loss over the years, but the loss
was greater than that I knew.

(Poor kid. We are doing the best
we can.)

Not sure why but as I got out of
bed, I said, “Oatmeal.” I decided
on oatmeal this morning. Another
poor decision. Coffee was good.

Oatmeal threw my whole day
off. It was massage day. Helped.
But I feel like a record playing at
the wrong speed. My mind is at
thirty-three and a third. Slower.

If I’m cutting back on salt, why
did I make a hard salami sandwich
for lunch? I cut up four radishes on
the side. Juicy, not hot. Dijon and
provolone. Read my Michener book.

I needed tea. Hot tea. I was chilled.
Taylor’s English Breakfast did the
trick. Again, milky and sweet for me.

(I’m spent.)

I have to end here without a real end.
Like I said, everything is raw, so raw.
Abuse cheated me of everything.

This came to mind, what God said
through his prophet Joel: “So I will
restore to you the years that the
swarming locust has eaten…”

There is hope in every dark place.
Only God can restore my soul.

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