I’ve written more poems by the glow of the bathroom nightlight than have ever passed through these fingers in daylight hours. With children and a husband sleeping, my options for daytime writing—and nighttime writing without waking anyone—are limited. So, the bathroom nightlight and I are long-time writing friends.
Last night my mind was yadda yadda yadda-ing. It had been a day doing things way outside my comfort zone, and not in a good way.
Easing into the bathroom to brush my teeth (yes, the same one with the nightlight) I glanced out the window and there was the moon, round and radiant and utterly captivating. With a soft, almost audible thump, I was out of my head and into my body; out of the natter chatter and into my senses. Here’s what I scribbled:
natter chatter natter chatter deep and quiet this night may be but my head is two-dozen pickles shoved in a twelve pickle jar, smelly and salty and spilling and then through the night-dark window she slides into view—all full-bellied radiance and exquisite stillness. and she rises. watching her sling her rich-bellied calm further into the night my hand touches my own round belly, all pearl and shadows and—finally—radiant stillness.
Tracie Nichols 