Tripping

Day 2 of my week long personal poetry challenge.

Let me just point out that this is not poetry month.  It is not write a novel in a month month, and it is not even the week taxes are due, which historically has been a great inspiration for me to write poetry instead of getting down to business.  I would never be compliant enough to do such an organized writing assignment. I am a poetry procrastinator. A putter offer. Keeper of a wayward, meandering mind. Truth.

But my cousin Lisa Lofthouse does a 30 day Yoga challenge and my friend Amy VanDerwater did a 360 day poetry challenge, so I started this week thinking surely I could so a weeklong challenge before ADHD lead me astray.

Today I had put on my calendar to do a little cleaning in the attic because committing to entirely cleaning the attic would be roughly akin to me dedicating myself to swim to Canada.  How far is that anyway?  Between Cleveland and the nearest port in Canada? What is the temperature of the water, do you think? Who could follow me in a kayak to post on social media and what if I got encrusted in zebra mussels and ended up failing and looking all embarrassing in the process?

Before I stop everything and go look all that up (which would postpone the attic task for at least another hour), here is a poem I wrote while thinking about cleaning the attic. 

Tripping

Suitcases in the attic,

clouds above my head,

tempting me to daydream

trips

to magic spots

instead of writing in my journal

or picking up my clothes,

lifting me from daily doings

to visit

well . . .

who knows?