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One day

We’ll have two children

Born three years apart

A family of four

Living at 5

Waterview St

16 years of age

15 dollars an hour

14 hours a week

13 blocks to the bus stop

12 steps up to the door

11 is the time on the clock

10 creaks as I slink upstairs

9 snores escape my mother's room

8 years since my father left

7 is the size of my well worn shoes

6 blisters they have bestowed today

5 hours to sleep tonight

4 little sisters to wake up to tomorrow

3 empty bottles of wine in the bin

2 elastics in my unwashed hair

1 loaf of stale bread

0 time for dreams

Twelve steps to recovery, eleven of them lies.

Ten desperate days bounded by nine sleepless nights.

Eight weeks past erasing seven years of memories.

Six heated arguments, five of them reconcilable.

Four times I fell and three times I rose.

Two paths to choose from.

One to move forward.

Zero excuses.

1460 days ago - I didn't think I'd be sitting here now.

730 days ago - I defied that notion.

800 days in the future - I fear will undo me.

But history's proved me wrong

& I'm counting on it to do so again.

I won't let these days pass me by: for who I was & who I hope to be.

One more,

Two thousand,

Three past,

Four strings,

Five older,

Six months,

Seven deep,

Eight again,

Nine teen,

Ten left,

waiting.

0 likes for my previous publication

1 hope  to participate in this competition

2 published articles

3 opportunities to write

4 times failed

5 months of try

6 days to write a piece

7 unless days of this week

8 years of writing

Date completed 17 April 2020

In the soft, amber twilight between lucidity and slumber lay my thoughts.

Words teasing and taunting

as I desperately try to sleep.

One, two, three.

I count to silence the thoughts

I seek so desperately during the day.

If only I could invent a way to transcribe

my thoughts as I lay in bed.

Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three.

Creativity surges through my body

like an electric flash.

All day, I search for that same surge.

If only I could plug into the half lucid mind.

I think about getting out a pencil.

Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine.

The minute I grab

a pen,

a pencil,

my phone,

anything to transcribe

what is coursing through my mind

the muses will scatter off on the coattails of a shooting star with a laugh at my misfortune.

Every night the torture continues.

I've tried silencing the voices with alcohol.

Seventy five, seventy six, seventy seven.

I'm so jealous of my husband's heavy breathing.

The silence is deafening.

Why must I bear this torture?

Vivid pictures dance through my head

asking to be released.

To be let into the world.

One hundred one, one hundred two, one hundred three.

Every night I tell myself the same lie,

I'll remember these brilliant ideas

and breathe them into life tomorrow.

Knowing the myth I'm telling.

Seeking the sweet solace of sleep.

One hundred fifteen, one hundred sixteen, one hundred seventeen.

My teeth hurt as I clench my jaw in desperation.

My back aches.

I contemplate getting up and writing.

Worrying I'll wake my slumbering partner.

I turn towards him and seek his warm hand.

One hundred thirty six, one hundred thirty seven, one hundred thirty eight, one hundred thirty…

And they're gone again.

Ghosts of my imagination to taunt me again.

2 12,

2 12.

6 8 1 11.

4 10,

4 10.

9 5 3 7.

after a hard ten seconds i saw her smile proudly.

oh there were at least four changes today. but all of them number ones.

i unfasten the two sticky tabs, ufold the cover.

could this be the change? the fifth change that will bring her relief?

she had a hard go of it these last three days.

pushed and pushed again, but zero results.

this time she scrunched up her tiny digits, all ten.

of the six teeth she has, i could see her showing the first two.

i unfurled the front.

and success. a long happy snake one inch in length and seven megatons strong.

i feel happy that she feels better. but my two nostrils are the collateral damage. twelve months of this and i am still not used to the pain...

ttt