Finally
Finally
Sitting,
Not racing, pacing,
anticipating,
the next thing coming in the door.
Running here and there,
tightness everywhere-
Is there an observer somewhere,
taking it all in?
Ballerina being spun,
around a turn table.
Mechanically,
spinning to a musical tune,
Does she even realize that it is her hand that twists her round?
Playing that old song again and again?
A tune that’s hard not to play, again.
Still, when all of the winding has unwound,
And the spinning calms down,
She can feel her muscles stop flexing,
and can hear the rain falling on her windshield, and notice that she is warm and fed and happy to see her little son get into the car.