Circling the Drain #napowrimo 8
The sun rises. The sun sets.
In between the usual happens.
The alarm startles us at five.
Time to do the shower shuck and jive.
Assorted wheels whirl us toward our mundane jobs.
Buses, subways, bikes and cars;
The wheels of all go round and round.
For eight hours we sit in a carpeted square box working for the man. He wants us to think outside the box, as worker drones buzzing around the corporate hive.
Five comes and we’re homeward bound.
Home to family. Home to old pizza.
Home to our friends, our cell phones.
We repeat this daily grind day after day.
Month after month.
Year after year.
We go this until a disruption of the flow.
Violence takes our safety.
Illness takes our wellness.
Death takes our lives.
As we lay cold and silent,
Soon to be under the shroud of white,
The doctor calls it.
The time is 9:15.
We have been circling the drain of death all this time.
Joy is in the breeze.
Gentle, wispy fingers touched by brine caress my cheeks as they pass by on their way to others who have journeyed through asphalt and sand to sit at the edge of the sea.
Joy is in the wave.
Waves lap at my toes. Watery tendrils lap at the sand pulling and pushing golden kernels of soon to be sea glass with the regularity of the moon. Gentle tingling can turn into the crashing of white noise as the sea transforms from calm to wild.
Joy is in the sun.
When the earth winters and the sun is far, a few hot beams of light are sun-sent, like beckons in the icy dark. These rays of illumination light up a face chilled by frigid air.
Joy is in the berry.
Red, Shiraz, Merlot or Rose.
Cava, Brut or the finest champagnes! The intoxicating blend of sweet, dark berries and bubbles fill my glass with an instant celebration.
Joy is in the sweetness.
Cocoa beans and hazelnuts are the guilty sin of the soul. Rich, brown chocolate warms the tongue as it melts to a liquid finish. Bumps of hazelnuts burst in nutty goodness against sharp and happy molars.
Joy is in the music.
The cacophonous din of data swamp the mind with daily cobwebs. The blue notes of jazz and white chords of Bach cleanse the soul. Music soothes the bewildered me.
Joy is in the touch.
Firm fingers trace circles on flesh tight with tension. Oiled hands knead bread on shoulders knotted with hot cross buns. Knuckles meander down spines tightly coiled with springs. Relax. Release. Breathe. Skin and muscle yield to gentle hands.
Napowrimo Day 7 : joy poem. Finally time to post it!