Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #365; Theme: Year in the Life

Me, myself, and I–in a very large nutshell.

abs

Lost her contacts—the kind that goes in your eye.
Lost library book on “Fertility Foes”;
found it long after due date.
Sneaked it back in,
never checking back,
or checking out again.

Lost the top she could no longer wear;
found it when she could fit back into it months later,
only to gain and lose her shirt again.

Left Downtown Brown in car
during summer in the Deep South.
Became Downtown Mud.
Bought Nantucket Red.
Washed her out.
Got Baton Rouge.
Self-explanatory.

Lost her marbles once,
only to find them,
albeit one at a time.

Walls are shingled with pink and yellow Post-Its.
She reminds herself to look.
37 logins and passwords—
sticky-noted above the monitor.
Her mind is like a computer
with seven tabs open at once.

Misplaces phone,
forgets phone—
not always in that order.
Can’t no one ring seven times before hanging up?

Looks for her shoes.
Often under the loveseat—
never in the closet.
Socks don’t have to match with pants.

Goes into store for one item.
Leaves with 10.
None the item she went in for.
What did she go in there for?

Coffee goes cold.
Still an optimist.
Cup half full.
Rest is left in microwave overnight.
Timer is essential ingredient for baking cookies,
especially when on Facebook.
Timer is going off.
Time to set Trisha on the potty.

Forgot to make Trisha pick up crayons.
Front door is now Graffiti Threshold.
Now Trisha thinks “Dammit” is her first name.
Looks for Mr. Clean Magic Eraser,
and oh, when did she last wash the blankets?

Walks into a room,
only to forget why.
Picks up something,
only to forget she did,
spending 30 minutes looking for it.

A calendar reminds her of the day—
sometimes the night.
Thirty-first birthday gets mixed up with her thirty-second.

Suffers from self-serving echolalia so whatever thought isn’t lost
upon changing rooms,
which is fitting.

Looks for something else,
so she’ll find what she was looking for the last time.

Rejections come in,
but they don’t deject,
for she’d forgotten she’d sent them in the first place…
or was it third?

Husband thinks she doesn’t listen,
but she’s simply trying to remember what she’s forgetting.
She finds her contacts,
but no, no, that wasn’t it.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-365

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