My Muse Lies Somewhere Buried

by Amy Totino

My muse lies
somewhere buried
underneath the rubble
of daily life.

She waits
for me
to unearth her –
to move the stacks of bills,
the clutter on the counter,
the piles of laundry,
the permission slips
to be signed,
cookies to be baked,
papers to be graded;

My muse lies
somewhere bleeding:
Waiting for me to heal her
from the paper cut off
of the grocery list,
from the sharp glass incision
of past insults,
from the slice
of the knife
called “I’m not good enough.”

My muse lies
somewhere dormant,
underneath the day to day
and lifetime of debris.

But she is still there,
waiting
for the moment
when I digging down
and she clawing upwards
will meet one another
in the sunshine and fresh air.