literature

there and back again cycle

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Literature Text

the journey of one thousand miles begins
when my alarm says so. mild surprise turns
to less-than-mild disappointment as my brain
wakes up enough to tell me it's two a.m. and
time to go to work. it then dozes through
the shower (lather, rinse, repeat), getting
dressed (pants, smock, shoes), and packing
my tools (knives, shears, sharpie) until i
walk out the door.

in neutral,
perched atop a hill.
then...the...push...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the jangle of my (brass) keys (bellchimesgongs)
locking the door as i leave is a benediction.
i reach the bottom of the stairs, step out
under the stars, and begin my thrice-repeated
prayer:'from the tao came one...' as i walk i
do my best to listen (with my eyes and ears
and soul) until i pass through those doors.

this rare time,
at our Mother's breast,
renews me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i hit the ground running from the loading dock
to the front desk with my key to get the keys
to the cornucopia. groceries, pans, utensils
and toil become a blur. somewhere between making
the hollandaise and rolling tomorrow's salmon trays
and fresh fruit platters into the walk-in eight
hours have passed, the sun has peaked in the sky,
and people are asking, 'what's for lunch?' as i
clock out and leave through those doors.

i got there...
where am i headed?
back again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you cannot j-walk with impunity across the same
street at noon that you did at three a.m. but
besides the cross-walks and the occasional
jaw-cracking yawn the most hazardous part of this
walk is climbing the stairs that lead down to my
morning prayer...that and finding my keys to
unlock the door.

i'm gonna
-YAWW(hold for three beats)WWN-
...excuse me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the journey of one thousand miles ends on the
other side of the living room; just past the
kitchen and the bathroom. it is, however, the
longest walk of the day. the cats are there to
mock or cajole or beg of me as suits their mood,
but i have eyes for nothing save the backside
of my closed bedroom door.

all that's left:
talk to my dovey;
take a nap.
4.3.11

a haibun pentet
© 2011 - 2024 haijinik
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