Life Without Logic

Life Without Logic

Am a North Wisconsin Hillbilly
who writes poetry. Is that even
reasonable, let alone logical?

Grew up in a big/little town
where Sunday’s second service
was football, family, screaming
at the television as if players
whose names you knew, like
next door neighbors, could
hear instructions in how to do
what they already did best.

Saturdays were getting up
before dawn to go fishing
with Dad. Reeling in perch,
heavy on the line, from cold
Bay bottom. Heading home
in time for supper where we
told stories of the one that
got away, or those that didn’t.

The rest of the week was
Parochial School, dresses,
black leather buckled shoes,
and busy work that never
ended. Countless rules
told out by nuns in black
and white habits about how
girls should be, but seldom were.

Then marriage, children, moving
away to a seemingly distant city
and a life interrupted by anger,
violence, and isolation. The sin
of divorce and slow, slow dance
toward a Hermit’s existence.

A North Wisconsin Hillbilly Hermit
who really loves words and certain
music, she alone can hear. Talks to
dragons, and a Tiger named Pain.
Colors outside the lines, while
dancing with pen and ink doodles.
No, it isn’t logical, nor reasonable,
but can swear it is all real.

Elizabeth Crawford 4/20/2018

Notes: Really felt stumped by today’s word, almost deciding to just skip it. Then started thinking about how life can be, and often seems lacking in logic or reason. My own is a good example.

Image is a pen and ink line weaving doodle.

Poem is posted at Waiting On Words: word for day 20 is logical.
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