Unbounded, Free,

I must write that poem which
will incite poets to read, grind
their teeth and swear – “I can
do that too!” I need to write it
so I can read it, grind my teeth
declare – “I wish I was more
like it, unbounded, free,
unchallenged for expression.”

It is there, lurking between things
I haven’t done, surviving as an
errand I have yet to run, weighing
among tasks making too great
an ask on time I no-longer own,
shyly despairing light to grow,
lying in the drear depths of a
once-fecund poetic womb.

Yes, I know this is not that poem,
I know from the tendrils of the
one I will write soon reaching
through my hands, caressing my
thoughts, wandering in infinitely
small filigrees of refined urgency,
testing to see if the time is right,
smiling beneath my anxiety.

I have boiled water, warmed
the swaddling clothes, scrubbed
the room free of dust – it shines
spotlessly like this 42 inch screen
I watch in expectant maternity.
I can scarcely wait to see what it
is like to be unbounded, free,
unchallenged for expression…
© I.D. Carswell 2006