Poetry: Friday night moment

A poem on a Friday night . . . .

I ask for guidance
The words fall
Nobody buys it
What am I doing?

I get up at 4:50 a.m.
Every day is the same
Or not
15 years gone . . . How?

I write
I pray
A master at creating
Not at this I say

I keep showing up
I stumble
I bounce back
Who am I?

Another tarot card?
I sit, I’m still, I listen
I see a mother and her son, learning
I hear the words

“You’ve helped so many people”
Maybe in small ways
Maybe not what I imagined
Maybe that’s enough

Leave a Reply