I lost today.
Somewhere along the way
Scattered thoughts I tried to pick up.
Sleepwalking to easel, guitar,
And then round to my writing machine.
Accounting for hunger’s drift;
A bowl of soup, juice, and crackers.

The thought of Mom’s bird feeders pop
Into otherwise unoccupied mind.
It is mid-winter, her mid-west memory,
A ghost hovering over a distant snowy lawn.
Her Franciscan benevolence
Becomes solidified on memory’s banks,
Like ice at water’s edge.

I wonder if the birds have learned,
If the squirrels and the alley cats know,
That she is dead and all the feed is gone?
Will they eventually get over it?
Will they know to move on?

As absent as my thoughts,
I am spinning anchorless,
Orbiting within my universe,
A room with a view.
Talking to myself doesn’t help
And I am amazed when darkened skies
Get ahead of me.
I have lost another Saturday afternoon.

I had things that I really needed to get done today.
Good things, important things!
I did fix breakfast, didn’t I?
It seems critical that these chores exist.
It is more than ritual.
It is more about doing deeds,
Good deeds!

You see…
I have someone to take care of,
Me.
I have someone to take care of,
Me.

My mother loved animals.
If she ever cared about me, all that much,
I never knew.
Perhaps putting out food
Was how she kept
From losing track of the time.



Michael S. True
1-26-14