Compulsion

A poem by Meg Sorick

Symmetry and straight lines,
All the light switches closed.
The knives pointed
In the same direction
The dishes must be white.
And there must be an even number.
Or a set with one in the middle
Just so, nothing less is acceptable

Take the spoon from the front
If you please, there’s no other way
To make sure they’re all used equally.
The shelves are not full.
I must fill the shelves.
Fold the clothes and stack
Keep the piles from tipping.

Balance is essential,
But neither temperance or sensibility.
This relentless striving for perfection
Pushes to the very edge of the abyss,
Where the only comfort is in a bottle.

Too much is out of my control.
I must control all that I can.

*Not autobiographical, header image artwork by me.

Tabula Rasa

Tabula rasa

The blank slate

The silence weighs heavy

And the open space is oppressive

A skeletal world of moonlight and rock.

Without thought or imagination

Nothing to dream, nothing to say

Only fear and exhaustion

Tabula rasa

Try and start over

[I am at a standstill with both my long fiction pieces and I am going to set them aside while I collect my thoughts.]