Sometimes I wonder
If posterity will decide
That I spent too much time on my business
And not enough writing poetry
Or the other way around.
Every day, I push rocks up a hill
Only to find them at the bottom the next morning.
Every night I wake up looking for my past,
A trail of lost loves and buried memories.
Am I still the girl who stood on her tiptoes to kiss a sunflower
Or a seeker of bread crumbs lost in a labyrinth?
April 25, 2017