Where are my words?

Where are my words?

In hibernation?

On vacation?

I do not know-

They didn't ask to go.

They just went.  Poof. Gone.

Perhaps they are on sick leave 

FMLA

No time to grieve

They just went away.

I often write while I snuggle 

But when I struggle 

To fit words together in a sensible way

I find mindless games to play

Hoping perhaps that making little bubble explosions 

On the screen will keep my brain from implosion 

And that swiping words on the screen 

Will make my words return, pristine and clean 

Through the fog

Maybe soon there will be some sense and order to this rambling rabbit race

And there will be the words, keeping up their tortoise pace 

Slow and steady

But present and ready

And I'll be waiting, pen in hand 

To craft words into stories again.

Meanwhile, Little Miss Snuggles drifted to sleep,

And I've some promises to keep-

A turkey to carve for Thanksgiving Day

And bushels of things to go put away

So long and take care

I'll be back when my words are.

Joy Mast Miller 

Thanksgiving Eve 2024

Pictured: a sign at a thrift store that I did not buy, but considered....