All the Stars

It turns out my jumbled mind has pulled itself together via the stars. I read two books recently with stars in the titles and on the covers: The Pull of the Stars, by Emma Donoghue, about the 1918 pandemic as it affects a maternity ward in Ireland, and Wiping Stars from Your Sleeves, poems by David James. Both provided quiet moments of focus on something other than work tasks, home tasks, caregiver tasks, and memorizing lines. My mind moved back into its jumble rather easily any time I slipped in a bookmark.

For example, I actually reviewed the poetry book for Escape Into Life, as David James is one of our EIL poets. I set up the post to publish automatically...on Wednesday...and then forgot about it till Friday.

Caregiver tasks included visiting my folks several times and accompanying my dad to a doctor's appointment, where I was shocked to see a woman sitting in the waiting room completely unmasked. I reminded him to keep his mask over his nose, and I was double-masking (medical + cloth), but I couldn't understand why the medical receptionists hadn't reminded or cautioned the woman. Later, I saw her in her mask, so maybe it was just a memory lapse...something I understand. I had forgotten till I read it again in The Pull of the Stars that "influenza" actually refers to the influence of the stars, once thought to cause that illness.

And apparently I am still drafting poems I let loose and forget about. The working titles perhaps reveal my state of mind?: "Holding Myself," "I Wept," "Forgotten Forms of Joy," "Calories from Wine." And an untitled one that might turn out to be called "Hear Myself Sing," which sounds more optimistic!

I've come out of rehearsal at night into dense fog--so fitting!--and startlingly clear skies, full of, you guessed it, stars, stars, stars!