“I Sit” (A Pastoral Poem)
I sit in a Long Island Victorian mansion and cannot feel my calloused, tired, cold, unsteady hands
I sit in the twenty year old dining room chair
I sit in front of a fifty year old Americana writing desk
I sit with too many thoughts for a crabby patty
I sit with anxiety moving the keys on my laptop
I sit with patterns and mistakes
I sit with consumption that I cannot read anyones mind but my own
I sit looking outside the white four glass window seeing myself in the bare trees
I sit knowing the leaves want to present; never easy
I sit remembering how much joy instantly bring to my face when in full bloom
I sit and fantasize about the green, red, and yellows leaves and how my sadness escapes into them
I sit at this bureau to make money and work through my life; work
I sit and wish I could still hear the ocean on cool spring days like today
I sit but cannot make out the sound’s voice as my music drowns her out
I sit to think about control and power and how these are patterns and mistakes; their abuse
I sit in suburbia longing for concrete jungles
I sit in gratitude I can be a city and country mouse in brownstones & Victorian Americana mansions
I sit not knowing how my future will play out
I sit hopeful that I will get to swim in calmer waters with the Sound’s songs.
©️Elizabeth Sophia Strauss 4.11.2023
