Sharing again for National Poetry Day. Writing this poem moved me from hurry and worry to spaciousness, to the time between the ticks of the clock. I hope it restores you, too.
Hurry. I am ill suited to it – especially as the days grow hot. I wrote this poem as a kind of rebellion against the feeling that my time was constrained, not my own, running away from me while I seemed to have none of it for the important things.
So I snatched time, and wrote. As I wrote, as I paid attention to what was around me, I felt the time slow. I felt myself breathe again. I felt the hard shells of the seconds soften, crack, and open like the seeds in the ground – become things of infinite possibility again. I realised that, although my home is not the manor described in the poem, there are ways in which it is. I can inhabit my days as if they were timeless, spacious, connected. By slowing, by paying attention, by breathing, I found what I needed. Most of…
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