The exercise:
Write about: the maze.
Max was supposed to get dropped off at daycare by Kat's dad this morning while I was at work. I got home to discover that he was still with Papa, only on the farm somewhere. I think he might need a little break from daycare at this rate, and with my parents coming to visit next week now is probably as good a time as any.
Bakery work was its usual busy but good. Ended up working until 1:30 so that I could help finish up the dishes before leaving the woman doing the closing shift all by herself. Back at it tomorrow morning at 8.
Edit: Max woke up just after midnight wanting something to eat. Got him back to bed and... promptly fell asleep with him for almost six hours. Probably the best sleep I've had since Miles was born.
Mine:
Brick by brick
And stone by stone,
They've built a maze
And I travel it alone.
Now and then
I wonder Have I been here before?
Oh, most certainly -
Only fifty times or more.
At each corner
The same old faces,
Yet, somehow, there are
Still no familiar places.
Is it just me,
Or do we all feel the same?
In this vast, rambling city
I wander and wonder Who's to blame?
2 comments:
So did Max not get taken to daycare, or was dropping him off so traumatic that he came home again instead? It sounds like he had a good day though, and I guess if Papa doesn't mind once in a while it all works :)
Hah, what did Kat think of you sneaking off to sleep in Max's room and not be woken by Miles?
I like the premise of your poem today, and I also like how you reveal the idea of a city as a maze almost as gradually as the city was built. The third verse is particularly poignant and has a definite resonance. Especially here in Malta, where I'm told people often give directions by refering to where people live, and then telling your their life story as well!
The maze
The urchins came running up as I stepped out of the car and the security men got into it. We carefully said nothing to each other about it; we all knew they'd been searching the farm and I could see from their expressions and body language that they hadn't been certain I'd be returned here. The urchins were silent but they acted like I thought children would when their father returned, and no-one seemed surprised. That the security men left so quietly and promptly meant they'd found nothing odd and I felt relief wash over me.
I set the urchins to cooking, and I walked past the charred grass where Cecily's pyre had been, and into the vineyard. For a moment I paused and oriented myself. I had reprogrammed the spiders to move the vines, and they had done a good job. The vineyard was a maze.
Insects hummed softly as I walked between plants. Here and there leaves brushed my shoulders, and bunches of not-yet-ripened grapes, as green as the leaves of the vines, dangled at eye-level. At one point I reached a dead-end and gently teased vines aside to let me squeeze through a narrow gap, and at another I had to press myself into the vines, watching annoyed bees dance around me in a warning pattern as a spider wheezed and gasped its mechanical way past me. At the end though, but not the centre of the maze, I reached a toolshed. The lock had been broken, and I could see that the security men had found it too.
I walked around it, and six feet further on I knelt and ran my fingers over the turf. It was unlifted; the underground rooms had been unfound. Then and only then did I sigh softly, stand up, and stroll back.
In the kitchen I sighed again and realised that I needed to teach the urchins how to cook.
Greg - his Papa stayed with him for story time at the library and then I think they came home after that. Not a big scene, Max just told him he wanted to go home now. Papa doesn't fight that sort of thing like I would, apparently.
I've actually been sleeping in Max's room since Miles was born. The hope was to prevent him from disturbing the two of them in the middle of the night and... it's mostly worked.
Another fascinating (and well crafted!) entry in this saga. So many great details, and I'm impressed with the way you managed to work with the prompt so naturally.
Well, as naturally as anything in this strange world of yours...
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