Sunday Poems 60: Resting

This week I've been exhausted. It feels a bit like my head is falling off my shoulders. The weather's been going up and down. My body feels like a dried fruit. There's an extra droop under my eyelids. A wobble in my legs.

Sometimes there's nothing wrong though. Sometimes too make small stressors add up. One night the body needs nine hours of sleep but I get the usual six or seven. My bed feels like a the place I'd like to go on a holiday, even though I've only been back from one for a few weeks.

What to do about it? A list of ideas: sleep more, take more baths, some light exercise, a cup of tea. Deep breaths and time to think help the most. If you have any tips for coping with exhaustion, I would love to hear them.

Sunday is a great day to admire the frost which covers everything when it appears. Walking your normal route, the trees appear to be bursting with a new sort of life. In a cynical moment, you see cordyceps bursting from an ant. But a tree has more tolerance of parasites than does an insect. When the frost goes, the tree will still be there. You'll be back.

Below is a poem. Consider passing it on to someone who might enjoy it. As always, I’m here if you need to chat. Sunday Poems continues to be supported by a few generous backers over on Patreon. If you have an extra dollar or two a month and you appreciate reading these, please consider becoming a Patreon backer, so that I can dedicate more time to writing on this blog. Have a great week, everybody.

the small look

a bird running across the surface of the moon
leaps like angel.

resting beside a shining hill
head in hand remembering
music at home.

the mind slides between
fluttering leaves and ocean
waves on broken slate.

an escort to somewhere else
might be worth the wait.

it is still possible to die
on another world.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
Sunday Poems is supported via Patreon.
If you enjoy this work, consider becoming a patron.
website | twitter | instagram