Mental Health Day

Heather A. Truett

“I have measured out my life with coffee spoons…”

T. S. Eliot

The rain is a tattoo on my windowpane.

I sew myself to sofa cushions, knit the cat

into my morning with her white paw resting

on my shoulder. Her black nose is near

my ear. I hear the throat hum sound

of kitty contentment and sip Honduran coffee,

poppies growing on the mug. The fan blades

swirl their circles, steady, invisible dust.

The rain tangles up my motivation, and I won’t

move much today, won’t tie my tennis shoes,

won’t get into my Prius, won’t battle Memphis

streets with windshield wipers swinging;

a salsa dance to a rhythm I can’t match. I am out

of spoons, no tools for scooping another hour

of concentration from my brain, instead, I stay

here with the cat, the coffee, and the water drops.

Today’s a day to sit at home, touch the cat’s fur,

purr just like her as the clock ticks by

moments and the calendar’s colored boxes of places

to be, drip past with the clouds. I only breathe.

All of the tasks on the list of to dos are pinned

fast to the pages, and they will still be there

when the day is done.