Mommy-brain

One little monkey boy, 
the tiniest little monkey boy,
 cooed, looked at my face, smiled.
I melted away.

digging old graves

A trip back home and a dig into old diaries might make you wonder why that twenty something was 'sad' and 'brooding'. Perhaps that is the trend in your twenties, to brood, and to write poetry that drips off sentiment. Looking back at myself in her twenties, I see no reason for her to be so. She probably didn't knew what life's struggles actually look like. Well, don't I sound old and wise as the thirty is just a year or two away! The twenty something used to write good stuff though, whatever peripheral sadness she was going through then, say in March 2008, what was it, where was I, what emotional conundrum was stuck in, I recollect not. But there these lines, on a 2008 diary... the words surprise me.

So desolate,
a brooding eye,
crushing my dreams
and hugging my breath.
Perhaps,
only perhaps,
a wind might teach you
how to dance in the rain.