[Writing] is a Privilege

This is the first morning in what feels like a very long time

that I have nothing urgent to take care of

I hid the feeling that I am constantly behind

somewhere, I’m sure to find it

parenting does this

writing is a privilege

reserved for those with clear eyes and leisure time 

space to feel and digest

observe, think, and rest

while a child I love

needs everything I have left

with a partner who lives in the residue

of all the things I feel I have to do

writing is a privilege

more than ever, thoughtful action is key

using just the right amount of energy

to achieve something—but what, exactly?

a bulb in the frozen ground

waiting to sprout, to do something renowned 

but what, exactly?

it is hard to recognize that we are in waiting

how do we enjoy the growing pains

of a vision that seems so far away?

someone told me recently that some years are questions, others are answers

I thought that was nice, albeit oversimplified

I’ve had a lot of questions lately

but I learned this year that I’m a mom

and felt the cold reality that

writing is a privilege