The Calendar

I'm at a stand still. A fork in the road, only instead of two paths to choose from, there are many, like rays extending out from the sun. At the center is me, and everywhere I turn is another path stretched out before me. I've never had so many choices, not even when I stepped across the line into adulthood, because I went straight from "kid" to adult, just like that. High school ended one day, and the next I was a mom. No time to think about who I'd be, or where I hoped to go, just doing what had to be done, until it added up to done raising my 7 kids for a sum of 34 years! Which is really all I wanted to do anyway. I had no career aspirations, I wanted to get married and have kids, like my mom, and her mom. It was the most fulfilling thing I could have ever done with these years. There are positively no regrets, no thoughts of missed opportunities, only gratitude for the ones I've had! Now, I can choose where to go next, but where should that be? What has the potential to be as meaningful, and important as the job I've just completed? It's exciting and scary all at the same time, this new found freedom. I do not know what will come next, I'm a clean slate waiting for a new set of instructions. Eyes, ears, heart, mind, and arms wide open.

The Calendar

The squares are marked, schedules made
words hastily pencilled in,
excitement for what lies ahead,
the page is turned again.
Rushing through the planned events,
another dollar spent
on what seems unimportant use
of time that I've been lent.
I'd like to make a difference,
but don't know where to start,
idle days procrastinating
as the squares depart.
Even when in my neglect
the page is left unturned,
be it April, be it May
days pass like bridges burned.
I can't cross this path again,
whatever the calendar reads,
certainly all tomorrows are spent
reaping this days seeds.
What will count of what I've done?
What matters of my ways?
of what I've tried to build,
of how I've spent my days?
Oh that the door would open
to the room that holds my dreams,
it's locked with me outside,
sometimes that's how it seems.
Give me a clue, jiggle the keys
empower me anew
I'm at another impasse
and don't know what to do.
Before the days and months
on my calendar disappear,
before it's tucked away,
with the passing of the year
prune me while it's springtime
that summer may produce
my escape in autumn
from the winter's noose.
P.J.