Dreams of Perfection

dreams perfection poem

Sometimes our thoughts, as well as the myriad things on our ‘to do’ lists are like those pidgeons in today’s featured image. “It’s just your thoughts, watch your thoughts,” my husband mutters sagely But not very helpfully at that moment.  Because there is a lot more to my life then the Poetry Daily. Especially, at this time of year. Like most other people. But, most especially, most other women who don the persona of Mother Christmas. And like the photo, that feels like what is happening,at least in my head – a hundred birds flapping their wings simultaneously clammering for my attention.

Christmas is coming and many women will be lashing themselves with activity to prepare to perfection the holiday plans for family and friends. The reality is often end of day exhaustion and an uphill battle to get all those items ticked of the list. And if they don’t get a tick, I feel like I am going to be added to Santa’s Naughty List. 

Brené Brown writes about how what foils a woman being able to come into the power of her vulnerabililty is a cultural ideal of perfection. You know, how women can do it all and have it all!  (We do know this is tosh, but still some of us gamely get suckered in to it, especially this time of year.)  Never more than in the holiday season, do many women (including me) feel the brunt and weight of that lash of perfection. The reality is that I am running a marathon with a few sprints to 19th December. And this morning I feel knee-capped. Although astrology pundits advise once Mercury goes direct and the New Moon begins to blaze things might feel different.

But I got up and got the notebook out for the Poetry Daily. Nonetheless, she persisted…at least, with the poetry. That can be written in bed, with a cup of tea and some Ibuproen close to hand.

Dreams of Perfection

All night she dreamed
that the tip of her tongue
was scalded,
chili pepper hot soup licked
by someone else’s ideals
of perfection.
In the morning,
a tentative check –
no scar tissue.
But still. True,
there’s a ghost
of sensation,
the sting of cayenne.
Copyright © Bee Smith 2018

Featured image: Photo by Ali Arif Soydaş on Unsplash

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