In the long hours, I pace
Magazines finished, reruns watched
And on the hours go
Windows peered at, mail opened
Cabinets closed, dishes stacked
And on the hours go
Apps clicked, messages checked
Empty food wrappers, pitched
And on the hours go
Closets cleaned, laundry folded
A second cup of tea, dirty in the sink
And on the hours go
Who am I in all this restlessness?
Who stands before the fridge, again?
And on the hours go.
Like the old widows of old
I wait at this house, for whom to come I do not know
And on the hours go
Meditation Travelogue 
“And on the hours go’
i like this refrain very much
and indeed like the entire work.
Best wishes, Noelle
john
Thank you, John. So kind of you to stop in an share your thoughts. Blessings.
Very thought provoking. That’s how I feel right now waiting to go into theather. Plus on the hunger goes!!
Truly sorry, my friend. I send you much healing right now. The body is an amazing structure. It’s incredible how it can heal. Thanks for taking the time to comment in the midst of your suffering!!
Noelle, this rocks! The loose rhyme form and repetition of the stanzas’ third line makes it feel like a formal form, and I love that.
xo
i am humbled, my friend. Always a pleasure to have you stop by. We need to go for a drink!
Really liked the “feel” of this entry. It took me to 4 AM wanderings when I can’t sleep and restlessness takes over my feet wanderings and head chatter.
It’s weird how the same task at 4 in the afternoon, looks like mania at 4 in the morning.
Great piece Noelle, I often feel this way when I look at the daunting to-do lists of the weekends. Some of the stuff actually *feels* productive – like fixing that missing trim piece on your ceiling’s crown molding. Other stuff, like mowing the lawn or washing the car – you feel good about getting done, but they’ll just need to be tended to again in a few days again anyway. And on those hours spent washing & mowing go, ho boy! 😉
Back in college a roommate had a dog that left slobber all over the sliding glass doors. I’d tell him to clean it, to which he’d reply, “Why bother. He’ll just slobber on it again.” The repetitive minutiae of existence….
And on the hours go….
But at least I have such good companions to spend those hours with, my friend.