Interrupted

Pardon me,
I’ve borrowed someone else’s line.
Where’s the creative juice
to formulate my own?
I am a writer, interrupted.
I was on my way.
Words were food and I relished nourishment
reading in the aspiring writing circle
the literary guru professor leaning in closer to listen.
I was on my way.
Then, sideswiped -
caught in a rush of
love struck madness
a romantic readiness
dwelling in naivety
diverted my attention
the turning years
blessing me with family
with children, who changed my name
causing me to sink deeply
under the surface, condensing all senses
near sighting me
to pressing essential needs:
food. love. baths.
My center breathes their significance
loving to the core of flesh.
Yet, can I steal
a quiet breath
to remember
and contemplate the whereabouts of thought?
Is there time to offer myself sustenance
among the rations of the day?
Oh God, this is not prayer
this is begging, as I
am on my knees.
Give me the power
to feed myself again.
Give me the talent
to get it back.
Fill the tank with fuel
stock the pantry
turn the faucet on all the way
surge forth
splash everything
with poetry.

Bethany Rountree is a writer and stay-at-home mom who lives in Celo, NC with her husband and three children.