Behind

I took my own advice this afternoon, taking some time, taking some photos.

It was a gorgeous day here in Muskoka. Wish you were here.

I am so behind.

The car rattles along the highway.

Going home. 

Going to work.

Doesn’t matter. 

It just goes.

On a track. 

On a one-way street.

On a wheel that never stops turning.

Behind at work. 

Deadlines loom like

monsters in grown-up closets,

hiding behind the dresses

and the sensible pumps.

I start one thing.

Almost finish another.

I lose myself in the middle

of three more.

People interrupt.

Phones ring.

Tempers burn. Hearts race.

I hide in the bathroom

because it is safe.

Behind at home.

Dishes grow black in the sink.

Laundry moulders in the machine,

wrinkles in the dryer,

breeds on the bedroom floor.

Stuff overwhelms me,

begging to be put away.

I don’t know where that is,

Away.

Maybe, if I find it, 

I could go there myself.

And let the dishes, the laundry,

and the dusty knick-knacks

find their own way.

Behind everywhere.

Cards to write.

E-mails to send.

Stories to read.

Apologies to make.

Thank you for the crystal vase,

it will look perfect in the hutch

with the doors shut

alongside the dishes

I only use at Christmas.

Hey friend, how are you?

I’ve been busy, I’m behind,

I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner.

I’m sorry I haven’t read more.

I’m sorry I said those awful things.

I’m sorry I’m not the person

you might have thought I was.

I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother,

daughter, sister, wife, friend.

I’d try harder but I’m so behind.

Unread books pile up

beside my bed.

They are guilt, printed on paper.

Unwashed hair,

unmade bed,

unsomething else.

Alone in the car,

on the way home,

or to work

(does it matter?),

I catch my breath.

Sunlight filters through the forest,

golden leaves, the stubborn ones,

still clinging to hope,

glow yellow in waning afternoon.

I want to stop the car,

jump out, take a moment

to walk through the forest,

crunch brown leaves underfoot,

smell the earthy wonder

of the changing seasons.

I know it would be magic.

It would bring me back

to childhood wandering,

destination-less, timeless.

Stop the car,

my heart sings.

You won’t be sorry!

This moment won’t last,

I tell myself.

Take it while it’s here.

But the car rattles along the highway.

On to the next thing.

The next thing.

The next thing.

I am so behind.

By the way, if you have a moment, pop over to the Canadian Blog Awards, where my good friend Laurita Miller's blog, Brain Droppings, is up for a prize in the Culture & Literature Blog category.

Just go to the Canadian Blog Awards website and cast for your vote for dear Laurita. She is an outstanding writer and has a most elegant blog, full of wonderful stories, poems and photographs.

Good luck, Laurita! Hope you win!