Lost Time and a poem about Aftermath
TOTT — A snippet of what I’ve been thinking about, pockets of content for bite-sized consumption, not quite big enough to be pieces of their own. 10/23/17
On Lost Time
I’ve been distracted a lot lately, by stories spinning both in my head and out in the world. I wonder how much time I’ve lost to these trains of thought, barreling around the cyclical track like a Christmas toy.
I write these things in 20-minute stints. I throw words onto the screen without any plan or thought, and come back later for another session to edit and cut and reconfigure. In all of those wheeling thoughts, how much more writing could I have gotten done?
The Tenants of My Body
Where do you feel Fear? I feel Fear in my collarbones, vestigial wings rustled and ready to flee. She strings tripwire between my shoulder blades.
Where do you feel Sorrow? Sorrow pulls at my intestines, knotting them into macrame to hang in the window-pane over the dining-room table.
Where do you feel Guilt? Guilt sits in my solar plexus breathing smoke into the ventilation. Far corners of the house choke through the ductwork.
In the aftermath, how do you cope? Whom do you prioritize, and how? What happens when making yourself happy hurts the people around you? Are you ok where your new tenants sit in your body?
This article was originally written and posted on Medium.