The Chamber Maid: Poetry

These litanies are
born of pain and fatigue,
sweeping out the mind
into the pail of
poetic musings
I will discard or save


Lingering, lingering
with this hazy feeling
I am weightless,
hovering over
caffeine mountains
to push through
the stagnation of
a mind grown weary


I watch my son
make play-doh dunes
on the kitchen table,
peeling off layers
as if he's got an
ice-cream scoop

And right here,
he's perfect
there are no diagnoses
and no disorders
no weight of what
we have to do

It's just a mom
and a son,
sitting at a table,
sharing space,
living life
and existing


They say
I am limited
I'm not out
in the world
chasing after

They ask,
"What do you do?"
And I say,
"I'm a Chambermaid."
At the baffled stare,
I respond,
"The title is outdated
and so is the notion
of slaving for
material goods you
don't need."


It's not about a pension
or a paycheck,
or desperation

It is that
I am here,
I am aware
and I am living
Yoga Nidra


Outside my windows
there are rainbows
and thunderstorms
that come inside
and say to me
that I am their daughter
fully grown...

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