Duty calls, but sometimes I don't answer.

Since I don’t write for a living, writing is more a creative outlet, like cooking or sewing, or carpentry is for some.  All these things can be a vocation where one is paid, but each is also a form of creative nurturing for the soul.  For me, writing poetry can be a form of play.  Having been a preschool teacher, I’ve watched a number of children in play and know that when children feel safe, they can find their inner selves through play.

If we are completely honest with ourselves, we know that we each harbor a dark side, a shadow self, and for me it comes out most clearly when I write my poetry.  I have a bit of a selfish streak which I try to hide as any “good Christian” tries but usually fails to do. 

Yesterday, I came across a poem I wrote years ago that revealed to me an aspect of this selfishness. The poem speaks to that problem of motive we all encounter at one time or another in our loving relationships: duty or desire.

Here is the poem, with its most recent revisions – as of this morning.  (My poems are never finished!)

I took a nap instead

But for the last three weeks,

I’ve made space for her, every Sunday

afternoon for over two years.

Lately though, I’ve stayed away.

I do not wish to watch the decline

of her small aged body, reclined

in her easy chair. 

I do not wish to watch her wrestle

to remember who it is at her side.

She’s dying there, surrounded by the stagnant scent

of “skilled care” air.  I don’t know if she’s in pain,

or gently withering like the roses on her TV set.  But,

once again, I did not visit her.