Obstacle

This Monday is in no hurry, either.

The clock is measuring

someone else’s time.

Those thoughts

are sculpting her under their pressure -

a statue of cosmic stillness,

so she gets exhausted

and steps back into sleep.

When she opens her eyes,

the sun flecks have reached

the corner of the room,

and the cat has spilled the pins.

She gives up.

There is no point looking for them…

She is powerless

before that one pin,

which someday

will come out of its hiding place

and will penetrate her soft foot.

It’s not elegant for a woman to limp - whispers her mom

from the inside of her head.

It is not… - she agrees

and slides back under the blanket.