This week’s prompt over at the Big Tent asked us to consider being “stuck.” I have been feeling stuck in several ways lately (see this post from earlier in the month), so this was a good time to tackle the idea. I ended up with a sonnet.
On Middle Ground
I live straddling electric fences,
lava on one side, spikes on the other,
the voices of my many selves pressing
in from every direction: mother,
poet, teacher, wife –never all or one
completely at the same time. A human
version of an infinite March, stuck, hung
between winter and spring, like snowfall on
green shoots of daffodils pushing their way
through the still-solid soil. This is how
I function. Juxtaposition and sway.
Navigating the indecisive now
into the delicious, one-sided land
of death, its constant, never-shifting sand.