The background music sounds like scissors
inside my pink tympanum.
It edges its way atop
the hours stacked like cards.
The older I get, the less
I care to teeter between two lifetimes.
Morning vitamins/evening vitamins.
The joy/the despair.
The work/the entertainment.
The gentleness/the frustration.
Self control and mild hysteria.
Yet in remembrance of you,
I keep asking if anything took root.


Sara Fielder © May 2021