Poem №029

I’m tired of trying to figure it all out and get it all right.

I want to live the experience of my unfolding,
to be present in the moments of discovery,
to lean into the embrace of the unknown.

I’m tired of trying to catch up to a place
I think I should have already arrived at.

I want to wake up to this moment.
This life.
The sound of this home creaking in the night.
The particular smell of the damp moss this spring.
The exact shape of my child’s face at nearly eight years old.

I’m tired of believing I haven’t done enough,
of the urgency to be and do more,
endlessly racing toward an ever-moving finish line.

I want to lie down on the floor
and feel time flash by
and realize the miracle
of my being, breathing, unproductive,
and the sky didn’t fall.

I want to cook pasta with the windows open,
music playing and candles lit.

I want to dance in circles
while I stir the boiling water,
add the pesto,
chop the tomatoes,
and lick the juice from my fingers.

I want to sit down slowly at the table
surrounded by my people,
fresh flowers from the garden
perfuming the air,
and nowhere to be but here.

I want my mind to be emptied of the lists
and purified of the judgment that measures up to no one.

I want each breath to be a prayer to this present moment.

May I live into the details of this life,
the damp moss in spring,
my children’s changing faces,
a home that creaks and speaks in the night,
pesto pasta melting on our tongues.

May my body relax into these moments,
letting the stress and fear,
urgency and rushing,
melt down my spine and into the earth.

May this life be a living, breathing, poetic unfolding.

May I be alive and awake enough to experience it.