Feeling an Empty Queue

Looking at the screen,
I catch my breath
And my heart freezes.

Blank screen courtesy of Pixabay, resize and cropped

My to-publish queue is empty,
Empty as the line at the funeral parlor for pre-paid services.

I’ve lost track of time;
I’ve lost track of thought.

All I’ve seen every day is work —
Dangling modifiers, antibody complements, foreign grammar patterns.

I need more hours in my day,
So I can write for me for free.

I need to think and write and think again.
It’s what makes me me.

The delicate dance continues
As I search for rhythm in this new season of my life.

The pendulum swings both ways,
And balance will become me.

Just give me time and room and space,
And I will write myself once more.