What helps me, more than anything else, is faith and art. Faith means belief in what we can't see right in front of our egocentric noses. Art is the same thing. The process of both brings immense peace.
And so, here is my second poem. Again, not curing cancer, but hopefully one more ditty my kids can remember their odd mother by.
(And no, this poem has nothing to do with my marriage. Rex and I never fight or disagree. We are the uber ideal couple. Come on, now!
There’s shouting going on upstairs
I can’t say exactly why
But Mama’s screaming something ‘bout
“If I cook one more meal I’LL DIE.”
When she finishes yelling about stepping on trucks
And M.I.A. lids from sippy cups
My daddy, well, then he starts right in...
Something about debt that we’re living in
And then I hear words like “credit card”
And for some reason a slipper – it flies pretty hard
Right out of the bedroom
And onto the landing
(Which makes me think Mommy is not understanding_
And then there is silence… like that’s all they got
Until Mom starts to cry, but dad adds “Nice shot!”
And then for no reason that I see at all
I hear giggling through their bedroom walls
It starts out all quiet like but then it gets louder
And soon laughter is raining like spilled baby powder
And then I hear “sorry’s” and a few “I love you’s”
And then the door shuts
So my guess is the two
Of them are likely chatting
About how good I can be
Maybe wrapping a present they don’t want me to see
One thing for sure is that night over dinner
Papa is smiling – (And my dad – he’s no grinner)
So whatever was wrong I guess now is right
It’s crazy how good stuff can come from a fight