All the Things I Kept

by Abigail Rudibaugh

It’s cumbersome the load
that can fit into one week.
The hourly planner connects
all the dots for my week
of appointments, deadlines,
emails, bills, chores, and meals.

I could go on.

So Sunday night I put on armor
of lists, routines, and tidy things.

The beat begins again on Monday
and I hop every note to the song
in heavy boots double knotted.

This morning I am jumping
through a slow crescendo
after small talk with a barista.
I turn the car back on with
aspirations of familiar notes when
I see alerts that my oil is too low.

I could tell you all the reasons
the dashboard lights are urgent.
I can’t tell you how I’m suppose
to now incorporate new music.

Find me the algorithm that proves
the load that fits into one day
is heavier than a week and
I’ll tell you thanks for
the definition of anxiety.

Make sure you include
how music turns to math,
but only the kind that holds
scenarios, the kind whose
energy is needed to prevent
the bad, to keep the good,
to pray away deepest fear.
That energy is gone by breakfast.

I’m embarrassed already so
please keep your eyes from rolling
as we sit down to a dinner of leftovers.

When you ask, “How was your day?”
Could I instead tell you all the things
I kept from stealing it? Let’s start
with how the car did not break down
because I replaced the oil.
.
@letsescapril prompt 3 on “anxiety” #escapril2019

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1 Comment

  1. How the everyday takes on a storied story, the pressures of lives and mechanisms resolving round a simple question, “How was your day?”; a windowed world this. – Thanks.

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