I Feel Like This Sometimes

This week James climbed out of his crib, hurt his elbow, went to Urgent Care and had x-rays (all is well).  This week Rhys got to my potted plant before me, and it shattered in a muddy mess on the kitchen floor, before I had even finished my breakfast.  This week I went to the dentist and found out I have an actual cavity that will require a filling, which will require another trip to the dentist, which will require finding a baby-sitter, which will require more money.  This week I discovered that the test I've been avoiding for too long is very expensive, but not expensive enough to meet my deductible.

Today, I got this poem in my inbox, and it sums up my week exactly.  I'm constantly amazed at the power of poetry to capture things perfectly every time. 


After Reading There Might Be an Infinite Number of Dimensions

I'm thinking today of how we hold it together,
arrive on time with the bottle of Zinfandel, a six-pack

of Scuttlebutt beer, how we cover our wrinkles
with Visible Lift, shove the mashed winter squash

into the baby's mouth, how we hold it all together
despite clogged rain gutters, cracked

transmissions, a new explanation for gravity's
half-hearted hold. I'm wondering how we do it,

comb the tangles from our hair, trim the unwieldy
camellia, speak to packed crowds about weight loss

or fractals. I'm wondering how we don't
fall to our knees, knowing a hardened pea,

lodged in the throat, can kill, knowing
liquids are banned on all commercial flights.

Leaves fall. The baby sucks her middle fingers.
Meanwhile, the refrigerator acquires

an unexplainable leak. Meanwhile, we call
the plumber, open wide for the dental hygienist,

check each month, with tentative circlings,
our aging breasts. Somehow, each morning,

the coffee gets made. Somehow, each evening,
the crossing guard lifts fluorescent orange flag,

and a child and her father cross the glistening street.

--Martha Silano