Poem: Playing Catch Up

west pawlet quarry 2

Playing Catch Up

Do not ask me how I am
this early in the day.

My brain, slow at the best of moments
is slower still in the morning,
the little gray cells working in slow motion,
archeologists digging for buried treasure,
your emotions.

They will come. They always do.
Some time. Some quiet. Waiting
for the sparkle of jewels to show themselves.

There is something wrong with me,
but I am accustomed to it,
aware of its foibles and quirks,
able to live with the missing pieces just fine thank you.
I can even make them
invisible.

Just give me a few moments
to catch up.

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