lenten journal: on nights like tonight


    On nights like tonight
    when I come home tired
    and try to write, only
    to have my little dog

    begin bouncing her ball
    on my feet, begging me
    to choose her over words,
    I think about monks

    and those who cloister
    themselves to meditate,
    yes, and to write, to get
    closer to God, seeing

    isolation as the way to
    make meaning of life.
    I write in traffic, feeling
    like the street performer

    who juggled three things
    chosen by the crowd –
    a bowling ball, an apple,
    and a working chain saw –

    and kept them all in the air.

    That’s contemplation —
    and it’s a public act. (Now
    I sound like I’m polarizing.)

    Those cloistered clerics may
    have had about as much
    choice in the pace of life
    as I, a juggler, myself,

    who wishes for a couple
    more hours of sleep,
    and wonders how one
    who unfamiliar with the

    unabashed ambush of
    canine affection finds
    anything to say at all
    on nights like tonight.



    1. This feels so achingly familiar, except in my case, the canine affection is replaced by the constant conversation of a nine-year old boy….

      There is hope in this piece. Which is a good thing, and much needed for me today.

      Well done.

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