This is Saturday’s poem.  It is so easy for me sometimes to let myself feel caught or bound by the whims of fate, or by other people’s expectations.  I often forget the principle that when I feel stuck, it’s usually my doing.  Here’s a poem about that feeling.

The fingers, the wickets, the Bandaids, the rut,
Raspberry jam on a three-year-old’s face,
It’s where I am in the middle with you,
Between that rock and hard place.

I’m rubber, Baby, you’re glue.
You know what happens when that stuff
bounces off me toward you.

You have me cornered in this muddle, this muck,
Wheels spinning in the mud,
Won’t you get me unstuck?

Prompt for Sunday

I’m going to leave the prompt open-ended today and see what finds me.  Join me?

Gratitude List:
1.  Sparkly greens
2.  Kale burritos
3.  Hard questions to consider
4.  Always something more to learn
5.  That singing purr of a warm cat on my lap.

May we walk in beauty.