Posted in art, poetry, writing

Daydream

Daydream  My brain got lost in making pancakes, hands moving in autopilot, measuring and mixing without need for consciousness, the steps ingrained in muscle memory.  I wasn’t in the room, hovering over the griddle, sprinkling chocolate chips. I’d floated into my future, grasping at visions of the you that doesn’t exist and how you’d tickle my waist as I flipped our pancakes.  I laughed and you hugged me from behind as I piled the cakes onto the serving plate your aunt gave us at our wedding.  I’m sorry you had to go  before you could eat any.  I wrapped them in plastic  so you could have them later.

I put my iTunes on shuffle this morning and the first 3 songs that came up all had the word “daydream” in the title. I wonder how much time in the day I spend lost in my own head, making up stories and pretending like I did as a kid. We never really grow out of that. We just learn to act out the scenes inside our brains instead of with toys.

I hope you have a glorious Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca

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Posted in art, poetry, writing

Eyelash

Eyelash  I make the same wish on every errant eyelash. I peel the escapee from my cheek and capture it on the tip of my finger, think my dream in the capsule of a blink, pucker my lips and let a single wisp of air carry it into infinity.  I inhale reality when I look back in the mirror— one less eyelash to cover with mascara.

I’ve started writing in a diary. I’ve found I like the senseless entries, writing whatever comes to my mind, confessing secrets, knowing no one is ever going to read these words (hopefully). One of my favorite teachers back in college used to tell us to write for 15 minutes a day, no matter what it was. The whole point was to develop the discipline to write. I used to write lists of what I did that day or complain about my homework. But then I finished that class and the journal entries stopped.

About two months ago I started them again, maybe not every single day, but whenever I feel like it. This poem is inspired by what I wrote in my journal today during my lunch break, scribbles about it being February and how it’s the month of love. It provoked a particular memory, something profound that happened to me in a February past, and before I knew it, I’d written this poem.

What do you think of when you think of February?

–Leanne Rebecca